Retribution
by CircadianLily
Summary: Jack/Ralph, Ralph/OC. Years after the island, Ralph is sent to the choristers' boarding school. Secrets unfold as a pattern emerges between the hunters and prey. If an object of desire cannot be caught or conquered, then it is oftentimes destroyed.
1. Scars that Fester

**A/N: **So I've wanted to write something like this for awhile, but just never really got around to it until now. There are some facts throughout Golding's book, such as the specific time setting, that are vague, so I've attempted to fill in whatever necessary blanks. Some of this may include last names that were never otherwise mentioned and other background information pertaining to the main characters.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything of Golding's. This work of fiction is purely for the enjoyment of LotF fans. (:

Thanks for reading! Review if you can! I'm always looking to improve and they feel so lovely.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 – Scars that Fester<br>**

_"In a perverse way, I was glad for the stitches, glad it would show, that there would be scars. What's the point in just being hurt on the inside? It should bloody well show."  
>-Janet Fitch (<em>White Oleander)<em>_

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><p>.<p>

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The wooden, ornate grandfather clock struck the hour.

Its voice reverberated low and proud, though failed to escape its carpeted prison that featured lustrous drapery over grand windows.

A boy with fair hair stood in the middle of it all, his tense eyes shifted throughout the stifling room, memorizing each detail as if it would soon dissolve into wild, twisted trees, dripping with condensation. He feared that the smell of linen and musk would soon be overpowered by the scent of ever pouring sweat and blood. His nervous eyes darted to the door, feeling that any moment painted savages would come pounding through, eager to drive their pointed sticks through his flesh, to slit his throat and to offer his blood to their beast. Of all their prey, he was the only one that still drew breath.

And yet he only lived because of fortunate circumstance. Apparently God wasn't through with him yet. He wasn't finished playing life's wicked game. In his mind, because he got away, he would always _be_ the hunted, always avoiding those that ached to finish what they had started years ago. He reviled the room that promised such fickle protection, giving the inhabitant no reason to fear for anything that could penetrate its dense walls. His fingers knotted within his pockets as his eyes flitted to the active fireplace. It spit and hissed as it devoured the dry wood. Fire was still a sore reminder.

It hadn't been that long... or so it seemed, since he had arrived back home.

_Had he really been back for over two years?_

Every morning that he woke up in a soft bed was a moment of surreal appreciation with a creeping shade of skepticism.

_Was he really here? Or was this all the same hopeful dream?_

The dream that was a constant, passionate invader of his mind within the island…

Or were the marred faces, murderous reminiscences and sensations that he felt and saw within the night the true reality? The reality that he tried hard to separate from the life that he had before the island... and the one that he was to now continue.

_Did they expect him to just pick up where he left off? As if it was all that bloody simple…_

Ralph's tightening throat felt as if a small stone had been forced down his esophagus. He took his sweaty palms from his pockets and wiped them over the top of his pants. His fair hair no longer hung over his eyes and his skin no longer basked in the earth's grim, yet he was reluctant to examine the reminder that summer had ended, his faded sun-tainted hands. Hands that once tried to tear, to rip, and to grab handfuls of tantalizing, vulnerable flesh. He shoved them once again deep within his pockets. His breath came heavy and his chest constricted.

His eyes lifted to the light patter of rain against the window glass. It was a gentle overcast, one that held promise for non-radical weather. A rather civilized forecast, he decided. His breathing slowed... as did his pulse.

All the while, he was unaware of the sudden, fresh set of eyes that were trained with care upon him. The opening of the door had been silent, as the thickness of the grandfather clock parlor absorbed any intrusive sounds. The purposeful small clearing of the throat caught the fair-haired boy's attention, bringing back his paranoid pulse. He was more than aware of the slight jump within his body. Immediate warmth spilled into his cheeks.

It was the first thing that his father had noticed when he came to receive him from the navy vessel that had rescued them. Ralph was still as tense and skittish as the island's panicked swine during a hunt… a far cry from how he used to be. It took months for his eyes to lose that faraway, haunted look, as if he were seeing and hearing phenomena that no one else could, jumping at every little thing that racked his nerves. His father came to hate these abnormalities in a son that he had once been so proud of. These were the sorts of _abnormalities_ that would land him in the madhouse one day if they worsened.

_Why would anyone else think otherwise?_ Ralph's mind ridiculed him.

He was relieved to see that it was only a girl that stood within the doorframe; her curious gaze was upon him. Her eyes still held the warmth of innocence. Ralph could tell the moment their eyes met and felt the immediate pain of loss for his, as well as a surge of loathing for the foul knowledge that now took its place—leisurely making itself at home within his heart.

He already knew that the Bradleys had a daughter of the same number of years as him. The Bradleys… the family that his father took him to, the family friends that were the closest to the boarding school he was to now attend.

His stomach churned at the thought of his father… knowing that he was going to be leaving soon. Just like he always did. It hadn't always been like this, of course. Not since his mother had left them when he was eight. Once she was gone, he had only known boarding schools.

Ralph ignored his tart stomach and tried to distract himself with the pale girl in front of him with the dark, open eyes. A loose braid lay over her shoulder. She moved to one side of the room, her hand trailing lightly across the back of a couch. She smiled at him, the corners of her mouth peaked for a moment, lit with a playful sort of mischief before vanishing. Though her smile had gone, the curiosity remained. The brief appearance of her curious smile caused Ralph to think of her as pretty... that is, before he caught himself thinking so. His cheeks burned.

He shifted his weight, which caused him to cringe slightly, forgetting that he had woken that morning with throbbing legs. His father said that it was only more growing pains. Some of his clothes no longer accommodated this growth. Again. It seemed like all he had been doing lately was buying new clothes.

Sucks to puberty.

Time had flown. Everyone told him that they had been stranded for several months. Amidst the muddle of time within the island, Ralph had surpassed his thirteenth birthday, unbeknownst to him. Time had no meaning on the island. Another two years had passed since coming back, recuperating and being moved around with his father according to where he was needed most for his duty.

The physical change in him was startling. Only a couple years had gone and now there were only mere traces of childish softness left within his face. He didn't mind… he didn't feel like a child anymore.

"Hello. I'm sorry if I startled you." Her voice, like the room, was quiet, so as not to disturb whatever conversation the adults were having down the hallway.

"I wasn't startled," Ralph quickly muttered, dark irritation painting his tone. Had it been a moment sooner, he would have interrupted. He aimed for casualty, conscious of his lowered voice. In the previous year, he had been making all sorts of odd noises and cracks within his speech. Now they had receded for the most part, much to his relief, though felt awkward in finding that it was replaced by an entirely new voice that Ralph hardly recognized.

The girl offered a polite nod. Her eyes were downcast.

"I'm Irene." She pronounced her name with three syllables, the old-fashioned way. Her hands clasped together in front of her plain, white dress. There was a pause before Irene's voice continued, "My room will be just a floor above yours just in case you need anything."

Ralph's fingers played with the edge of his pocket, sliding the fabric against his bitten nails. Never did manage to get rid of that nasty habit. His mind offered him blanks as to what he was supposed to say next. Adjusting back into the routine of civilization was not as effortless as Ralph had at first expected. Even now, it refused to become the second nature as it had once been.

'_Introduce yerself,'_ A voice prompted within Ralph's mind. He stiffened, gritting his teeth. The voice always sounded like Piggy with his way of speaking, as if he were dropping obnoxious reminders during a conch meeting.

"Thank you..." He licked his dry lips. "I'm Ralph."

Irene smiled again. "It's nice to meet you, Ralph."

There was a small commotion at the door. In filtered three adults: a man with a thick-waisted coat, a petite woman with a kind face, and the tall navy commander that Ralph knew so well.

The woman stepped forward, until she was an arm's length away from Ralph. Her arrangement of pinned hair felt familiar, though he couldn't say why.

"You may not remember me, Ralph; but your mother and I were close friends. We—grew up together." The woman presented a sad smile. The stillness following her words lasted for only a moment before she found her voice again. "You were so young... the last time I saw you. And now you're quite the young man. She would be so proud."

Ralph felt himself flush at being called such, though now looked at the woman with a new interest.

The woman bit her lip, her face strained as she brought her hand up to touch Ralph's cheek. He leaned into her fingers in the slightest when the memory of why she was familiar surfaced within his brain. The woman reminded him of his mum before she died. Even the smell of her lilac perfume awakened the timeworn memory of her face. For a moment, he could almost hear her voice; recall the way that she would sing to him, soft and lilting. And in a flash, it was gone. She retreated from him as she turned her attention towards Irene.

"And I see that you've met my Rene." The woman spoke with such a warm smile towards her daughter, Ralph felt an irrational surge of jealousy singe his insides for just a moment, seeing the motherly connection that Irene still enjoyed.

"I'm sure that you two will get along quite swimmingly," Mrs. Bradley added in a stubborn, yet spirited voice.

"It will be a pleasure to have you with us for a short while," The man with the heavy coat said in such a mild manner, it sounded as if he had just complimented the brilliant display of cloudy weather. It was apparently considered normal to always talk about the weather. And if it was disagreeable, then to pretend that it wasn't. Ralph tried not to think of this ridiculousness as he forced his voice into polite indifference.

"Thank you, sir."

A weighty stillness settled once again over the grandfather clock room, so thick it felt as though it could be sliced in half.

"A moment, Ralph?" The deep, gruff voice of his father broke the silence. He walked out the room with a formal stiffness befitting a commander. Ralph followed, more than aware of the three sets of eyes trained upon his back.

Ralph followed his solemn father down the main staircase and then down a long hallway with a creaking floor, feeling like a stupid lapdog. He always did so. He didn't complain. He never complained, especially after his mum died. Even when he forced Ralph to pack his things for yet another move—in and out of the countryside where Ralph liked it best. Where he got to feed the sugar to the ponies when he was little. The lovely, quiet countryside where no one bothered you. Where people minded their own business.

They reached Ralph's designated room for the sole night. Tomorrow he would be starting at the new boarding school. His father sighed deep and low before opening the door to the room bearing only one suitcase. A new order of grey and navy school uniforms lay sprawled over the crisp, white guest bed. Ralph regarded the mess with lifeless eyes, reminding himself that he had yet to pack it away for his leave tomorrow morning. He breathed in the civilized scent of long-unused sheets and dust.

Finally turning towards Ralph while standing in the middle of the room, he laid a heavy hand over his son's shoulder as he spoke. "We both know that I cannot stay for long. I've already taken so much time away from my duty..."

He spoke like he was addressing one of his subordinates. No words formulated past Ralph's lips, so he acknowledged him with a nod before slowly regarding his father's face. It was a strong face that was once capable of holding great kindness and would have been welcoming had lines of grief not been grooved so deep amidst his aging features. He had already lost a wife and came close to losing their only child, the only family he had left and the only physical reminder of _her_. His father attempted to smile, though it didn't quite reach his pale eyes.

"These are good people, Ralph. They can give you more than your mother and I could have." In other words, they would be close by in case anything happened at the boarding school. The corner of the naval commander's mouth twitched at the mention of his dead wife. Ralph nodded again, wishing that he could say something... anything. Tears threatened at the back of his throat, but he held them back with steely resolve. Never again would he cry in front of another adult. In truth, he didn't care how good these people were. He only wanted his father to stay.

He bit his inner cheek. Hard.

"This school should be good for you as well..." His father frowned. His voice hardened. "_Everything_... will return to normal soon, you'll see." He spoke with a commanding finality. Ralph's lips tightened at his implication.

_You will retain your sanity._

Without another word or moment of the rigid silence, he pulled Ralph into a rough embrace before clapping his shoulder once again. Despite how businesslike it all appeared, a small glimmer of sadness began to coat the older man's eyes.

"Bye dad." Ralph finally found the words this time, the hidden emotion causing his voice to crack. His father smiled at this and ruffled Ralph's golden head of hair like he used to do when he was little.

His father took his leave. His shiny boots echoed down the hall, while Ralph stood still within the guest room… feeling as empty and cold as the day when he had wept for the first time in years within the presence of an adult… after nearly meeting his gruesome end in a place far from here.

Ralph stayed behind while his father made his official leave out the Bradley's front door. In his mind, he was set on finally packing the remainder of his belongings... that is, what wasn't already brought to his designated room within the boarding school, yet he found himself sitting on the carpeted floor with his back against the post of the bed, staring at the white wall ahead.

'_You know that you shoulda seen your dad off n' stuff.' _The Piggy sounding voice pestered him.

"Shuddup," Ralph snapped at the unsympathetic, empty air.

It was good that his father didn't know about the occasional voices that intruded his thoughts. He was already worried about his nightmares, the kind that made him scream bloody murder at night, get hopelessly tangled within the sheets with an unhealthy-looking layer of sweat, slickening his body. His father tried hard to keep this from becoming common knowledge to prying ears. That his son might be cracked.

A small knock resounded from his door, causing an involuntary twitch from the boy.

"Ralph? May I come in?" It was Irene's muffled voice. Even after only meeting her once, Ralph recognized it. His uneasiness subsided, though was replaced with a new feeling of nervousness, one that caused his stomach to turn in on itself and his skin to tingle with heat. Whatever it was, it was more pleasant than the other kind of anxiety that normally shadowed him. He stood up, running a hand through his hair, forgetting that it was shorter and didn't need to be always pushed out of his eyes.

"Uh—yea." He spoke in broken fragments as he slid the meager pile of grey school uniforms to the side of his bed, now forming a lump of wrinkled cloth, just as the door creaked open.

Irene walked in; her strides lighter, free from adult supervision—at least for the time being. Her eyes observed him before noticing his attempt at clearing the bed of his clothes.

"I suppose you have yet to pack your things." She spoke more to herself than to him as she wandered over to the bed and sat herself on the end of it without as much as even looking at him for permission to do so. Either case, Ralph didn't care all that much. He continued to look at her as if she were a specimen that he had yet to decipher. He still liked her eyes the most, devoid of worldly knowledge, calming pools of simplicity that he wanted to submerge in. He found too late that he couldn't help his blatant staring, forgetting that it was impolite to do so.

Irene returned the look, wondering what was going on beneath the nervous boy's exterior. Though she had to hand it to him, he did handle himself well enough for someone that had been stranded for some time in God knows where. Her parents had told her to be kind and understanding towards him, that he might not yet be settled. Her eyes surveyed his golden locks, his light eyes, and his summer-toned skin. She dug the heel of her shoe into the knotted rug that lay at the foot of the guest bed before looking away.

"So… where'd you live before coming here?" At least she was trying to make conversation, she thought. The prospect of having someone around her age in her family's large estate had been an exciting idea—even if it was a boy, though now she wasn't so sure. He didn't seem like he wanted to be here at all.

Ralph gave off a slight shrug before answering.

"I've been all over, it seems. I try not to get too attached to anywhere in particular." He could probably name the places he _hadn't_ been to with more ease. "Why don't you tell me about this school…?"

"Well, it's an okay place." Irene paused, skipping over the facts that he would know, such as that it was Catholic and not far from her home.

"The boys and girls will be separated most of the time, though we may have some classes together." She looked down at her folded, sweating hands, attempting to keep her voice even. "If you'd like, we could even meet up during our free time or whenever they serve meals. And then there's morning mass on Sundays and Wednesdays…" She paused, trying to think of anything else. Then continued. "The teachers are decent—well, maybe there are a _few_ exceptions." She wore her mischievous grin that had learned to hold in careful check within the presence of their parents.

Ralph cracked a small smile at her for the first time since they'd met, feeling a small bit of amity with her over their preference against teachers. His more childish side won over the intruding adult side for that moment.

"And the students?" He asked as he leaned against the dresser.

Irene lost a little of her shine that she held a moment ago and shrugged. "Just like any other, I suppose."

Ralph felt awkward at her reaction and looked out his window, as if a distraction would pop up at any moment. He didn't want to lose the opportunity to make his first friend here. Then he would at least know _someone_ at this school.

"Are you hungry?" Irene jumped up from the bed, her face now eager, eased from her dampened mood. "Mother saw to it that something special was going to be served tonight, seeing as you're our guest and all."

Until she had asked, Ralph had been unaware as to how empty his stomach realy was. Lately, appetite had been eluding him, though now it seemed to grip him with a vengeance, payback for the recent times he'd ignored it.

"Sounds good."

Just then, the heavy, oak door opened to reveal a craggy-faced, thick-waisted rampart of a housekeeper. She glared at Ralph with all the warmth of Wales in December before turning her suspicious scrutiny over to Irene. Ralph couldn't help feeling a sudden flush come over his face, realizing that the housekeeper had expected to catch them doing something indecent. She wiped her hands on her starched white apron.

"Didn't expect you to be in here, missy," her rough tone indicating immediate displeasure. Her words were most contrary to the way that she had opened the door. "Dinner's ready."

Irene released an irritated sigh before swinging to her feet from the bed and was out the door. "Come now, Mina. It's not as if I'm _doing_ anything wrong by visiting our guest." Mina frowned, her thin lips disappearing. Ralph followed Irene, though felt the intense heaviness of the housekeeper's disapproval as he passed her into the hallway.

Dinner was pleasant enough. It was Mrs. Bradley that held Ralph's attention with stories of all the adventures and some miss-adventures that she remembered having with his mother when they were young girls. He almost forgot to also pay attention to his plate of food. Mrs. Bradley painted a vivacious picture of a young, almost mischievous girl with her words, giving Ralph another side to her memory. He even allowed himself a tiny grin at the description of how she got stuck in a tree, on account that her dress had become snagged within the high branches while climbing. Mrs. Bradley's cheeks were rosy with laughter at recounting the tale, while Mr. Bradley seemed to almost bristle at the idea of a girl climbing trees in her Sunday best like a wild animal. Irene was quiet, though Ralph caught her a few times sneaking glances at him before turning her intense gaze to her plate, cheeks turning pink.

Just as they finished desert, Ralph could hear the light patter of the earlier evening rain turn into a torrent. The wind bayed with violence against the sides of the house and was accompanied by the low rumbling of distant thunder. Ralph shivered, seeing a vision of the creepers blowing in the brutal winds of a similar storm, now only able to become sentient in memory. He pushed away the remnants of his bread pudding. His hands gripped the sides of his chair, his face feeling the drain of blood as he concentrated.

_This is the reality. I'm here… not there._ He quivered and almost felt like he was going to be sick with the effort.

"Ralph?" Mrs. Bradley said. He blinked before looking towards her, trying to keep a straight face. He was met with a worried expression. "Why don't you retire to your room? You look tired."

Not trusting his voice, he could only nod as he got up from the dinner table. His hands shook as he released his iron grip from the polished wood.

"Irene, please go with him. Make sure that he knows the way back to his room." He heard her say as he pushed in the chair, his eyes on the floor as he did so.

"Alright," Irene whispered.

He was pretty sure that he knew where his room was, but he followed her anyway. Now he was glad for her company upon seeing how dark the hallway had become. Since coming home, Ralph didn't do well with darkness—another thing that his father had added to the growing checklist of concerns. It made it more difficult to separate his nightmares from reality. Sometimes he could almost smell the wild moisture and hear the untamed liveliness of the jungle whenever he was in the dark, forgetting that he was in the confined safety of civilization. The nighttime was hard enough. He didn't need it creeping into his daylight hours as well.

It was all that he could do to maintain his fractured sanity—just enough so that he wouldn't instantly be checked into a madhouse. He'd heard horror stories about those places. It sounded like it would do far more harm than good. The thought made him uneasy as he twisted his fingers within his pant pockets. His father would never let that happen, he thought, repeating it within his mind just to reaffirm his uncertain belief.

The very idea of losing his sanity frightened him more than anything at the moment. All he wanted was to be accepted back into society without any worry or question, to live as if none of the premature growing shadows in his heart ever existed, as if they were never born. And yet there they were—continuing to gnaw at the corpse of his once thriving innocence and naivety.

Irene turned towards him once they reached his door.

"Are you alright?" She asked, her voice had an edge that Ralph didn't like.

"Perfect," was his tart reply. He narrowed his eyes though was sure that she couldn't see him through the dimness of the hall. She crossed her arms.

"Well, you look awful. Like you're going to be sick."

"Like I said—I'm fine." Ralph felt his voice become a bit harsher than he had intended, but he had been asked that irritating question several times throughout the years by his father. Now near strangers had to ask him as well. It's not as if he was off his rocker, Ralph thought. Yet.

So it only made him angry whenever someone asked for no apparent reason—at least to him.

Irene must have sensed his resentment, for she was quiet for a moment, breathing her own sigh of frustration before turning to leave. The silence caused Ralph to feel the prodding of guilt for getting angry and turned towards her, taking a shaky breath, terrified for a moment at the thought of being alone in the dark. No matter how silly it seemed.

"Wait," He swallowed.

He heard her pause in the hallway, though didn't turn around.

"Where's your room? I just want to, um… make sure someone's near." Ralph felt his cheeks burn, feeling ferocious shame for appearing weak in front of a girl.

"Just go to the foyer, up the stairs, and then turn right, my room is the second door down the hallway." Her voice tempered, letting Ralph breath a bit easier.

"Thank you." His voice was so soft, he wasn't sure if she heard him before opening his door and going inside. He felt instant humiliation the moment that he closed his door, feeling every bit a changed coward. What hurt worse was the fact that he wasn't like this before. He was always ready for a challenge, a bold leader without the protective reassurance from others. And now here he was, afraid of the shadows and of thunderstorms that reminded him of his innate wickedness. Pathetic… a mental case… lonesome… that's what he now thought himself.

He turned on a small light as he began to strip. His eyes wandered to the mirror hanging the instant that he pulled the shirt free of his head. He caught sight of the long scarred tissue on his chest. It was diagonal from his right shoulder down and across to the left side of his stomach. His fingers touched the smooth surface of the long line before quickly pulling his night t-shirt over his head. He remembered the feel of Jack's spear as it grazed him, how he threw it on impulse in the dazed stillness after Piggy had been pummeled by the boulder. It tore at his flesh and skin, though Ralph couldn't recall feeling pain, just mind-numbing adrenaline as he turned to run. Ralph shuddered as he turned out the light and lay in his bed, pulling the covers taut around himself, in recoiled acceptance towards the dark visions that would soon visit him… like they had done each and every night since being rescued.

Like he knew they would, they pulled him under the moment sleep took over. It wasn't light and gentle, but swift and irrepressible, drowning him with its exertion. Everything pounded so hard, his ears throbbed, his voice useless, and he could taste blood. He always tasted it.

With the iron tang present in his mouth, the creepers draped its weight about his frame; the boy with blistering red hair always came upon him. He suffocated him with his proximity, his heavy manifestation of murderous intend as he pinned him down. His eyes of ice would graze his body for several seconds before threading his fingers through his hair, an almost intimate gesture before forcing back his head, straining the expanse of his throat to him… vulnerable, pulsing flesh.

_A stick sharpened at both ends_…

Samneric's words vibrated through his mind. Jack leaned down until Ralph felt the savage's mouth against the shell of his ear and began to whisper things, reminding him of every death on the island, every detail that Ralph wanted to fade from his awareness. Every night the memories were reaffirmed, scratched upon his heart even more deeply than before so that they would never fade. Just like the visible scars upon his flesh—scars that betrayed him.

He woke with a strangled gasp. It was the middle of the night and he was already a pathetic, shaking, bundle of nerves. The sheets were still wrapped about him, almost suffocating, sticking to his sweaty flesh. Ralph's chest shook with silent, tearless sobs. His hands made their way to the sides of his head as he tried to ease away the twisted visions the clung to him like leeches, looking every bit the bizarre mental case that his father feared him to be. The unfamiliar room mocked him with its cold silence, with the fact that it lacked a comforting presence, anything to pull him from the nightmare's lethal waters that continued to threaten him. Threatening what little life he had left within him... the small amount of his precious soul that he clung to and fought so hard to protect.

.

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><p><strong>Reviews are love!<strong>

**Expect an update on this one soon and for those of you that are reading my other story, Primitive Impulse, expect an update coming up on that as well.**

**Thanks :)**


	2. Meet Fate, the Sadist

**A/N: **Thanks for the review, Petiib. It really does mean a lot to know that others are reading this. :)

**Disclaimer:** Lotf doesn't belong to me except for the lovely OC's.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2 — Meet Fate, the Sadist<strong>

"_Never knowing what is real,_

_In the shadows you meet,_

_Never knowing what is true,_

_In the answers you seek,_

_Never knowing if,_

_Fate she hears me,_

_Fate stand near me,_

_Fate state clearly,_

_Whether there will be another card."_

_-Trans-Siberian Orchestra (Fate)_

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

Today was the first day of school and Ralph couldn't remember feeling so despondent since coming back from the island. The stiff collar of his freshly ironed school uniform instigated an itch that refused to leave all along the stretch of the tender skin of his neck. By the time that he had been summoned for breakfast, there was already some inflammation displayed beneath the white collar.

Grating the skin probably didn't helped. It only succeeded in causing it to grow an even angrier shade of red. Irene looked much the same as he did, aside from the pleated skirt instead of trousers, but everything else, even down to the expression of uncomfortable agitation matched him. Mrs. Bradley's cheery disposition rubbed Ralph the wrong way this morning. Not wanting to pointlessly say something cheeky or appear rude, he concentrated on his bowl of porridge, attempting to ignore how it seemed to have plastered to the roof of his mouth and eventually to the lining of his stomach.

It's never been his favorite.

He moved the chunky remains with his spoon, resting his head against his fist, momentarily forgetting that it was impolite to have elbows on the table. That is, until Mina nudged him none too gently as she walked briskly past, collecting dishes.

Everything after the scant breakfast was horribly hazy and hurried. The remainders of their belongings, which Ralph remembered to pack earlier that morning, were swiftly rushed to the vehicle in the driveway. The Bradley's were saying their goodbyes and Ralph couldn't help but to feel rather awkward, waiting and standing in the lawn by himself as Irene's mother smothered her daughter with kisses. It wasn't long before Mrs. Bradley rushed over to Ralph and instantly crushed him with a stiflingly warm hug.

Ralph stiffened before forcing himself to relax. No woman had showed him such motherly affection in many years and he wasn't sure if he was more uncomfortable with it or missed the physical contact. He caught Irene rolling her eyes the moment her mother released Ralph from her clutches, checking to see that he had all his belongings in the vehicle for the third time.

"Mother… we're really going to be lagging behind if you don't let us go."

"OK—ok I just wanted to check." Mrs. Bradley chastised her daughter lightly before giving them both a final peck on their foreheads.

"Mum!" Irene said, horrified.

In response, Mrs. Bradley only smiled before retreating back to the house. Irene's face was still enflamed with agitation as she tugged on Ralph's arm, still immobile the moment her mother kissed his temple, unsure how he was supposed to react.

"Sorry about that," she mumbled under her breath as they got into the car. By the time they finally pulled out of the driveway, Ralph noted how the storm's ravaging from the night before displayed its evidence on the streets. The walkways were slick with the settlement of rainwater, although the sky still resumed its gloomy outlook on life with the emergence of more ashen clouds.

Ralph didn't mind them. They were predictable. Safe.

Irene's hand remained upon his forearm while the driver took them to their destination. Ralph could read the slight changes within the pressure she applied, as if wordlessly signaling to him where they were going to take a turn. The streets were busy with their normal bustle—the morning rush, it would seem.

By the time the large, prestigious Catholic school loomed nearer, Ralph detected a few kids around their age and older that wore the same gray and navy uniforms. Most walked by themselves while a few were in clusters. He had a feeling that everyone had already established their groups of friends and were simply returning for another year. For a brief moment, he wondered where Irene placed herself within this school, for she was like them—a returnee. Him? He was an outsider—the new kid that would breech their already fortified social barriers.

His thoughts were interrupted the moment that the actual school came into view. It was almost as tall and imposing as the cathedral next to it, both well-worn and faded. Although it wasn't difficult to see that it was also greatly loved, for there remained a certain beauty within its walls, admirable in the care that it took to preserve its former glory.

It was said that only the most respectable students were admitted within this school. Ralph snorted softly at this thought, earning a curious side-long glance from Irene. The car soon stopped and the driver helped to unload their few belongings that had yet to be taken to their rooms. Like Ralph, Irene previously had the majority of her things already brought.

The driver, after making curt, polite goodbyes, drove away, leaving him and Irene on the school's freshly cut grass. It was still fairly early, so there weren't that many students about, but Ralph did catch a few looking at them from faraway. Irene picked up her suitcase and began to scan the area before picking out one of the faraway buildings after exasperatingly nudging her fair-haired companion for his attention.

"I need to go over there… that's the girls' dormitory," she stated.

As much as he hated to admit it, the idea of her leaving him alone, even if it would only be briefly didn't settle with him.

"Where am I to go?" Ralph said, his voice coming out more casual and confident than he felt. A touch of confusion crossed her gaze and before she could open her mouth to reply, Ralph heard his name.

"Mr. Medevane? Ralph Medevane?"

Ralph started slightly, much to his annoyance, before turning to face a stooped, old woman. She had a surprisingly strong voice considering what her frail frame suggested.

"_He sure is a nervous little thing," _she thought_._ She smiled at his reaction to her voice, mentally concluding that the boy's father wasn't exaggerating upon warning some of the administrative staff of his son's tense temperament. Though she sounded firm, her face was not unkind as she approached him. "Well, then Mr. Medevane… it certainly is a pleasure to meet you. You may address me as Ms. Hauke and I will be showing you to your room."

Ralph smiled as best he could under the circumstances and clutched his suitcase tighter, feeling his limbs grow heavy.

"Um… excuse me ma'am," Irene hurried over to Ralph's side. A strong wind caused her braid to wipe behind her back. "Would it be alright if I were to accompany you? Just briefly… before I get settled." Irene spoke quickly, though couldn't hide the slight stutter behind her inquiry, feeling the disapproval already radiating from the old woman's feeble frame as she turned to regard the two of them with a guarded eye.

"Are you two related?" She asked, suspicion deeply creased her already crumpled face.

"N-No. But we're practically like siblings. It's his first time here… and I want to make sure that everything's suitable." She stared blankly ahead; telling her white lie as simply as if it were fact. Despite her small deception, Ralph felt odd relief for her willingness to accompany him, if even for a bit longer.

The old woman looked at her hard for a moment longer, her face losing a bit of its former warmth. "Do as you wish, but keep in mind that you are to be ready in your uniform and at the chapel before morning mass." She replied tersely before turning around and resuming her sluggish walk towards the boys' dormitory. Ralph exhaled slowly and glanced at Irene with a small smile to which she blushed lightly in return.

"I'm just curious as to where your room is," she spoke under her breath so that their escort couldn't catch a word. "That's all." She rolled her eyes before her amused lips twitched, staring ahead. Ralph's smile got a little bigger, almost teasingly as he made an unspoken offer to carry her suitcase. She fiercely swatted his hand away just as they finally made it to the large, ornate doors of the building.

The woman opened the door for them as they trudged through, admiring the quaint elegance of the old place. As they made their way through the halls, Ralph began to lose count of how many crucifixes they had passed on the walls. Ms. Hauke stopped suddenly at room 122B and opened the door. Ralph walked in, immediately recognizing the rest of his things placed within a neat pile in the middle of the room and added his suitcase filled mostly with the uniforms to the bulk. He was abruptly stricken with disbelief when he realized that there was only one twin-sized bed in the room along with a desk, wardrobe, and dresser.

"Um… where will my roommates be staying?" He asked, feeling a little stupid for asking the question, seeing the obvious answer in the form of one bed and yet still wondering why he was placed in a 'one-person' room.

"You didn't know?" Ms. Hauke's voice carried from the doorway. "Your father specifically requested that you be lodged in a room by yourself. Of course, there is the washroom down the hall, which you are still required to share with everyone else on this floor."

Ralph's fists clenched briefly at his sides as a slight sweat broke out upon his brow. He felt the heavy settlement of deep resentment drop like burning coal into his stomach.

_Of course _he would request something like that_._ _Of course _the commander wouldn't want anyone aware of the mental mess, a broken disappointment, plagued by the vilest of nightly visions. It was something that would be passed around like honeyed words, whored into something unrecognizable after its spread by several blathering mouths. Especially when the vulture-media would flock towards the very mention of one of the '_island boys'_ slipping within their masked performance… faltering within their struggle to fit back into society. They had been keeping tabs on every single one of them since their rescue, as most expected them to slowly meander their way over into the local madhouse.

He could only nod at Ms. Hauke, acknowledging her words, though the hot heaviness within his gut remained. Irene peered at him from the hallway, only noticing a fragment of the anger that flitted briefly across his face.

"We will leave you now to allow you to get ready," Ms. Hauke gestured Irene to get away from the door as she began to close it.

Before it did, Irene called out to him. "I'll see you, Ralph."

And then there was silence. Ralph looked about the strange, empty room. The isolation instantaneously thickened the air, suffocating him. He quickly opened the suitcase that held his uniforms and began to hang them in the wardrobe, his mind and fingers itching for immediate distraction. Everything was grey, white, and navy, along with the school's emblem. Keeping in mind what he had seen the other kids wearing, he began to strip from his everyday clothes and had pulled on the school slacks, collared shirt and blazer, though had some trouble getting his tie on correctly.

_It has been awhile_… the awkward thought came. He left it, deeming his attempt halfway decent. At least.

He left his room soon after, not wanting to linger in the silent, blank room and was soon out the dormitory building, his eyes avoiding the polished, gleaming crucifixes as if they were the very eyes of God himself.

The weather somehow managed to look even poorer than before, slightly darker. He sighed at this just as he saw Irene emerge from a building on the other side of the campus sporting her school uniform as well. She spotted him across the lawn as they made their way towards the chapel, meeting each other in the middle.

"Hey," Irene spoke, almost cheerful at catching him before mass. Ralph echoed her greeting with less enthusiasm, though was glad to see her. There were a considerably growing number of students emerging from the various buildings.

Curious glances had already made their way towards him, his skin instantly prickled uncomfortably beneath their scrutiny. Some of the more officious-looking boys were sizing him up, wondering which one of them he would end up challenging as the school year progresses. There were girls that glanced over as well, though Ralph pretended not to notice. A few of their giggles reached his ears, causing his face to burn as his stomach suddenly felt like it was sinking in thick, gritty sand.

Irene's eyes followed a particular group of girls that they saw the closer they got to the stain-glassed chapel. They flocked around a pale girl with stick-straight black hair that fell down the length of her back. Although she was just merely pretty, she commanded the group's attention as if she released potent pheromones. She glanced over towards Ralph and Irene before giving off a small, yet charming smile. Ralph stiffened, his face involuntarily warmed again. Her smile widened slightly at the reaction as he swiftly tore his gaze away from her. Irene grumbled something unintelligible beneath her breath.

Irene gently tugged on the sleeve of his blazer, guided him to the throng of kids filtering within the chapel. His eyes burned with curiosity as he glanced back at where the raven-haired girl stood. She was gone.

Just as they were approaching the crowds of uniformed kids trying to gain entrance into the building, Ralph felt the light drizzle of misty rain upon his face. Irene grumbled quietly.

"Just great," she murmured as she grabbed a hold of Ralph's hand before pushing her way through the crowd. Ralph followed, at a loss for words or even a reaction as she made her way in, her iron grip on his hand never slackened. By the time they reached inside, she led him to one of the back pews. They sat for a good minute before they realized that they were still holding hands and flinched back their extremity. Irene blushed brightly while Ralph looked away, trying to hide the fact that his own flushed face was giving away his uneasiness.

"Hello," a voice interrupted his tumultuous thoughts and he faced the speaker. It was the raven-haired girl from before and she was seated in the row ahead of them, completely turned backwards. Irene looked up at the girl; her face was as dull as stone as she greeted her back, her voice as unenthusiastic as her expression advocated. "Hello…"

The raven-haired girl looked at Irene, a look of mock horror and disdain on her otherwise bright face. "Why Irene, there's no need to be so sullen. Not when you've brought such an interesting company with you." She turned her face to Ralph with a charismatic grin; her lively eyes meeting his. A few of the girls sitting nearby poked their heads around to watch the small exchange and to examine the new student. An apparent rarity at this school.

"Why not? It's the first day of school. It's a perfectly normal thing to be unhappy about." Irene spoke in her stiff voice again, though her face withdrew even more as she folded her arms tightly across her chest.

The raven-haired girl clicked her tongue in annoyance before turning to Ralph. "Well, apparently she is too busy being in a sour mood to introduce us. I'm Cynthia." She switched back to her warm smile, a strange contrast to the nearly biting tone towards Irene. A lock of her lustrous dark hair spilled over her shoulder as she leaned over to extend her hand.

"I'm Ralph," He spoke for the first time in a while and was surprised to find his voice completely intact. He took her hand, unexpectedly noticing the softness of her skin. He released her hand first.

"Well, I hope we get to see more of each other soon. Perhaps we may have some classes together?" She spoke, curling the edges of her mouth slightly. In the corner of his eye, Ralph noticed Irene awkwardly shifting in her seat.

"Perhaps," Ralph ended their exchange suddenly just as the doors to the chapel were shut. Cynthia quickly went back to her seat. Its finality resonated throughout the room, causing the talking to decrease to that of whispered murmurs just as the brief, morning introduction began. Ralph stole a look over at Irene, instantly noticed her obvious discomfort though the stiff expression though couldn't think of an explanation for why she was so bothered. Instead, he focused in front, hoping that the tension would dissipate on its own.

He barely listened to the verses that were being recited. As the stilted words filtered through the damp air, the light patter of the rain outside could be heard as well as a few whispered murmurs amidst the students. Ralph's eyes appraised the crowd, allowing his curious sight dominance over his half-hearted listening.

Being towards the back, he didn't have the greatest view, but there was little that could have blocked his view of the stately, dark robes of the choirboys that filled the front row. Their capped heads tilted in superficial devotion to the speaker. The very sight of their caps put his heart on edge, caused anxiety ridden sweat to lightly sheen his brow. His breath came a bit heavier at the onslaught of his painful visions. For a moment, he thought the rain outside gained momentum to that of a wrathful storm and could feel and smell Simon's slippery blood beneath his fingertips, itching for more susceptible flesh to desecrate.

A small noise must have escaped his throat, for Irene's hand was immediately on his strained forearm, bringing him crashing back into reality. He was startled with the death grip at which he clutched the edge of their bench on each side of his knees. His knuckles were white with strain. His skin drained of blood; cool against the warmth of Irene's hand. Ralph released a breath he didn't know that he was holding and risked a glance over at her. She met his gaze sidelong, her eyes somewhat widened. He forced his body to still—to calm. With effort, he released his hold on the bench, liberating the tension within his muscles as his palms flattened against the pew.

Her hand slipped down his arm, her fingers curling gently over the top of his hand. Ralph leaned slightly towards her, feeling himself return to normal as the droning voice came to a close. Prayer was called for.

Everyone bowed their heads, whether out of true worship or duty. He saw Irene's head incline from the corner of his eye, though hesitated. He felt too dirty, too unworthy and couldn't find it in himself to do the simple action.

_Come on_... He berated himself. _It's just a simple movement. Just pretend. _And yet he couldn't. He was a lone face, staring straight ahead amidst a sea of diligent, praying students.

And yet, he wasn't alone.

Curiosity allowed his eyes to wander and the sight nearly sent him into another mental fit. Across the aisle, on the other side down a few rows, sat two boys. Identical in every way. Ralph's breath caught in his throat as blatant recognition assaulted his mind. He felt his lips part slightly at the vision of the twins that he thought he would never see again. A flash of blistering resentment burned his face, fleetingly recalling their betrayal the day they were rescued. It quickly cooled and was forgotten when he noticed Sam, the twin closest to him in his line of vision turn his head slightly, his eyes were glued to the front row.

Ralph followed his gaze to the black-clad choristers. Three heads were slightly raised above the rest, staring ahead. Not quite bowing, but also trying not to be so observable in their repudiation. What instantly caused his face to lose its former color was the mesh of fiery red hair abounding from beneath one of the flat black caps that kept their head raised. Ralph felt his mouth dry and his throat constrict painfully.

_No, no, no! God didn't hate him _this_ much…did he? _

Surely enough, the instigator of his nightmares was living, breathing, and thriving in the same room as him. Ralph bit his inner cheek until the metallic taste of blood engulfed his senses. The other two choristers had dark hair, leaving Ralph with only guesses as to their identities.

He brought his gaze back to the twins, stunned to find Eric now openly gawking at him, while Sam continued to face forward. Eric's face was a fanatical mixture of astonishment and humiliation. His cheeks darkened to that of a cherry red when his eyes connected with Ralph's, causing him turn back to the front, almost violently as his gaze fastened to the floor. Sam reacted to the quick movement of his brother and they seemed to be talking in whispers.

Then, tentatively, Sam's eyes came up, meekly inquisitive amongst the crowds, no doubt searching for whatever had startled Eric. Ralph continued to stare, expressionless, when his eyes finally landed on the blond. Similar to Eric, Sam's face burned and he mimicked his twin's bowed head, staring now at the floor. The sound of the light rain stopped.

The prayer ended and the students were dismissed. The quietness exploded with the sounds of the students conversing with their friends. Ralph went with the flow of the traffic outside where they were permitted brief passing time in the lawn. In the bustle, Ralph got separated from Irene, but was surprised to see the twins fighting the crowd, making their way painfully towards him. He looked away.

"Ralph."

One of them spoke as Ralph turned to face them, staggered by their suddenly close proximity. They both wore their school uniform, though Sam's was decidedly a messier representation than Eric's pristine image. Despite this, both of their dirty blond hair fell in slight disarray and their eyes were heavy with guilt, yearning and starving for something. Ralph was somber with sudden sympathy, feeling an odd comradely with them, despite still tasting the bitterness of remembered treachery, even if the blame didn't belong entirely to them.

"We're so—so s-sorry," Sam choked his voice threatening tears. Eric's face was equally downcast, though his speech failed to reiterate on his behalf.

Ralph nodded quietly, feeling the heaviness behind their gaze as he forced his eyes back to their faces. Their eyes—still dark, still haunted with the memories… just as his were. In that moment, Ralph felt tired. Weary from holding onto his tumultuous resentment and found that now, after truly looking into their tired, troubled faces, that he had already forgiven them.

"It's alright," Ralph's reassuring, albeit weary voice escaped him. He felt a small weight lift amidst the minefield of his murky, torment of a mind. Both the twins seemed to bask in their relief, a small bit of brightness crept into their eyes, restoring a scant sliver of their old selves. They hurriedly both held their hands out for him at once. Ralph rubbed the back of his neck, and felt himself smile a little at their eagerness and involuntary imitation of each other. Sam chuckled as Ralph took his hand first and then Eric's.

"Ralph, there you are." Irene's voice permeated the air. She joined their little group. Ralph introduced her to the twins, who apparently were also new to the school.

"Yeah, our parents—"Sam started.

"—thought we needed a change," Eric interjected; his eyes flitted to Ralph before inspecting the ground at their feet. He understood. Ralph wondered if their parents thought they were as mad as his father apparently found him since returning from the island. Irene caught their unspoken interaction, but said nothing.

Soon Cynthia and her giggling throng of girls came over, saying something about how Irene always hogged the attention of the newbies. Irene breathed an irritated snort as Cynthia introduced herself to the twins. Sam's cheeks had a touch of pink as he shook Cynthia's hand first. He grinned widely. Eric rolled his eyes slightly at his brother's display of prepubescent affection. She seemed equally charmed by the twins.

"This is sure to be an interesting year with such fascinating additions," She spoke with a small smile, her eyes flashing playfully from Sam and Eric to Ralph. Ralph shuffled uncomfortably as Cynthia's friends began to pull her away from their group to another.

"Well that sure was annoying," Irene mumbled beneath her breath. Ralph caught her words and was about to say something to her until she suddenly stiffened with a fake smile of politeness plastered over her pale face.

"Good morning, Father Whitman," Irene said.

Sam, Eric and Ralph turned to likewise greet a slightly older-than-middle-aged man in his standard, priestly attire. His hair was on the thinning, grey side, though he still retained the appearance of strength and inner vitality. He was a man that still held onto many more years. His eyes were of the palest grey and would have been unnerving had he not worn a smile.

"Good morning, Miss Bradley," he spoke in a serene voice as his eyes surveyed the new faces of the twins and lastly Ralph. His gaze lingered slightly longer on Ralph as if almost being able to place a name to his face. He pointed mildly at the twins. "Mr. and Mr. Maxwell." He smiled as they nodded courteously. He shook their hands, welcoming them to the school.

He turned to Ralph. "And I believe that I remember meeting your father. The naval officer, am I correct?" Ralph barely nodded. At one point, he was supremely proud to have a father in such an admired position, though that surge of egotism had been dormant from him for a while now.

"Then you're Ralph Medevane. It is, indeed, a pleasure." He clasped both his clammy hands around Ralph's, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise slightly, instantly feeling uneasy.

"Th-thank you, sir," Ralph stuttered slightly. Whitman released his hand before turning his attention to the rest of the group.

"If you have time this evening, we're having open choir practice. All students are welcome to experience how some of us spend our after-school hours. Aside from my customary duties, I also serve as the choir director. We've already begun preparations for the upcoming holidays." Whitman smiled slightly, showing his teeth. Ralph felt the blood drain from his face at the mention of the choir. Irene immediately thanked him for his considerate offer when the strained silence prevailed. Even the twins looked like they were about to be sick.

He took his leave with a polite, slight inclination of the head after welcoming them again to the academy. Ralph's eyes followed the man until he passed the group of choristers. The wind caused their ludicrous outfits to swell in the wind. Most of the boys were laughing and talking amongst themselves, behaving like any other schoolboy aside from a handful. Ralph's eyes flitted over to the faces of the dark-haired choirboys that he hadn't recognized from before. And now with their faces partially revealed, he felt his stomach churn. It was Roger, Bill and Maurice.

A splash of bright red entered his concentrated vision of the choristers and Ralph finally beheld the face of Jack, something that he hadn't seen since rescue. Now being in the stage between childhood and adulthood, there were already vast changes within his appearance, Ralph noted, as he scrutinized the object of his nightmares. He was taller, even more so than Ralph, and the sleek contours of his body were already giving into the shape of that of an older teenager. Even his face was somewhat different, less severe and boney, as if he were finally starting to grow into it. The aura of intensity was still present, the blatant quality of severity within the conceited way that he set his jaw and surveyed the throng of students made it difficult to misplace him.

_He looks well enough_, Ralph grudgingly admitted…_ less ugly_.

Ralph could feel his fear and loathing for him stir deep within his stomach, an invisible parasite that clawed at him. And it was in that very instant, almost as if the redhead felt the force of the other's stare, looked directly back at him. His ice blue eyes shaded with brazen shock. It quickly relented; however, as Jack remained fixated on him, keenly taking in every millimeter, every contour, disturbingly similar to what Ralph had just previously done to the chorister.

Then like an abrupt alter in the wind, something smoldering touched Jack's gaze, something that almost seemed to melt its icy exterior, before reverting back to his old, devious smirk. Ralph blinked in confusion and a small bit of fear fluttered beneath his skin, unprepared for the odd look and turned away from him, the first to break the spell.

_Perhaps he's gone as batty as the rest of us_. Ralph silently told himself in order to ease the apprehension over his former rival's strange expression. He tried in vain to listen to Irene, Sam and Eric's conversation, but was distracted by the image of Jack's face. Unbeknownst to him, Roger's dark gaze was upon him almost as soon as he had looked away. His expression was impassive, masking his obscure contemplation before peering back over at Jack.

The afternoon wore sluggishly on as the students finished the last of their unpacking, finalized their schedules, and familiarized themselves with the rest of the school that they might have forgotten since last being there. For new students, this was a necessity. Ralph felt like he had been run ragged by the end of the day and was more than ready for bed. The evening stretched on as he wandered the hall until he came upon the washroom. He normally took his showers at night. It was an advantage, seeing as he wouldn't have to fight the morning rush to get in.

Standing now, dressed in his nightclothes with the damp towel still hanging over his shoulder, he surveyed his barren room. He hated being alone. Even if his father thought it better this way than to be thought bonkers by roommates, Ralph would have vehemently disagreed. Especially after the events on the island, he hated forced solitude. No one knew what lonely was until they experienced what he did—stuck on a small island with the majority of the inhabitants bend on killing him in a gruesome way… his only friends dead. Ralph flinched at his dark musings; stinging wetness pricked the back of his eyes as he grabbed the post of his bed, mentally steadying himself, forcing back the images into the silent void of his mind.

"I need sleep," he said to no one. His voice sounded dull amidst the empty air. He turned out the lights, threw the towel on the floor, and was out before even a minute had passed.

His dreams displayed his memories like an ugly mural; things that he wished would disappear. He never expected his subconscious to be merciful, so he dealt with it as best as he could. It was routine for him to be woken in the middle of the night; the sheets strangled about his thighs, brow moistened with sweat, messy hair hung carelessly over his forehead, and heart pounding within his chest. This dream was particularly violent, a reenactment of the hunt for him before their rescue… only there never was a rescue… never in his dreams. It always ended with his death. He screamed. He screamed until his voice was worn with the effort, until his throat was scratched and raw.

So intense were his movements, Ralph only woke, escaped from the nightly assault, when his overheated body collided with the cold, wooden floor. Ralph panted, feeling his heart continue to thrash within his chest as he slowly got up; his sleep laden arms trembled slightly beneath his weight_. _Fat tears of gratitude escaped his eyes, dripping silently onto the floor.

Gratitude for the fact that he still breathed. That those spears had not pierced his flesh. That his blood had not stained the island.

_I'm alive… I'm alive… and I'm miserable as hell._

_._

_._

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><p><strong>If you like, you should review. ;) <strong>

**And I'll be sure to give you something you'll like even more in the next update. -wink, wink, nudge, nudge-**


	3. Tyrannical Chapel Specters

**A/N:** As you lovely people may have noticed or will notice, some of my titles might be a little on the goofy/odd side throughout the story, but don't let that fool you. And blame Jack for why this chapter took a little longer. He was mean and quiet for a few days while Ralph was chatting up a storm. I wanted him to shut up and let Jack have a turn… but to no avail (at the time). I just _know_ it's going to be reversed, when I need the other, though, because that's how they roll. Ugh, the woes of a writer. Not that I'm complaining or anything… :)

So this chapter's on the longer side. I think it had a slightly weird feel to it, so I hope the end product is alright. I really just wanted to get this up for you guys, so let me know how it is.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, just something that I force its characters to go through. How evil. But I don't feel bad.

**Reviews:** _**Lauren Kassidy**_: Thank you! You're input means a lot. I hope that everything will remain strong as the chapters continue. :) _**UlquiorraTru**_: Haha, yes, I think for me it's the editing that takes the most time. But it polishes so nicely afterwards. The only problem is knowing when to stop. Thanks! _**WinterRose1**_: Your username is lovely. It reminds me of the Grimm's 'Summer and Winter Garden' story. :D Thank you so much. _**Amara Kingley**_: You're a doll. I was basically floored by your praise and how much you liked everything. I hope that I'll continue to impress. _**KikiMona**_: Thank you so much for your enthusiasm. I'll try to update as soon as I possibly can. xD

Everyone, thank you for taking the time to leave a review! They make me smile.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3 — Tyrannical Chapel Specters<strong>

"_Wherever God erects a house of prayer, The Devil always builds a chapel there; and 'twill be found, upon examination, the latter has the largest congregation."_

_-Daniel Defoe_

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

Ralph ran his hand through his sleep mussed hair before getting himself up from the floor, forcing it into an even more disheveled state. The golden strands now stuck in curious, new directions. Cold fingers fumbled blindly upon the nightstand before finally grasping his wristwatch.

It was two in the morning.

A groan passed restless lips before the watch was tossed back with a loud clatter. Suddenly feeling the call of nature and hating it for its demand at the most ill-timed moments, he crossed the room and slipped into his shoes before leaving. He wandered down the hall, groggy eyes in search for the washroom. The air was cooler in the somewhat drafty hallways, forcing goosebumps to form across the span of his exposed forearms. He crossed them against his thin, grey t-shirt, receiving little warmth from the action.

Upon finally finding it, he opened the door to reveal a small group of boys conversing in low voices near the window. The only prominent one within the washroom. His slowly stirring mind counted. There were three of them, all still wearing their bedraggled school clothes, though Ralph paid them little heed, turning his drowsy gaze from them as he walked towards the opposite wall with the urinals. He glimpsed at his reflection in the mirror above the sinks across the stalls, noticing dark, almost bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes. He turned hastily away from the strange reflection—resentment for the foreign boy with the aged eyes, mismatched with his youth, settled heavy and tight over his stomach. Everything grew quiet.

As soon as he was finished and began making his way towards the sinks, he felt a startling pair of hands firmly grab his shirt from behind. Another pair seized his arm, fat fingers dug into sensitive flesh, while the other that had his shirt wildly took his other arm in a steely grip that refused to budge. They pinned him to the cool, tiled wall, his head making sharp contact with it. Ralph's lazy stupor brusquely left him, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head.

"Stop! What the hell are you doing?" Ralph shouted, trying to create as much of a racket as he could. He struggled, though it was rather useless, seeing as the two were much larger than him. The third, though smaller, was clearly the conspirator of the small bunch with his triumphant, wicked looking grin. He stood in front.

"Why, hello there," he drawled, his droopy eyes looking on, amused towards Ralph. "So… it slipped our minds that we have yet to introduce ourselves to you, seeing as you're new. And it would be completely rude of me to forget to initiate you _properly_ into this school."

Ralph blinked at him, fighting the impulse to roll his eyes. He wasn't stupid. He knew where this was going.

"This goes way back. It's practically a tradition we hold here. Wouldn't want to break it, now would we?" The boy smirked at him, completely elated at the prospect of some entertainment for the evening. "It would make you rather unpopular with the rest of us. Plus we will be making sure that you're fully—"

"Will you just cut the shit and tell me what I have to do," Ralph bluntly interrupted. He was quite frankly, still exhausted upon waking up from another of his energy-sapping nightmares and knew that even if he did get away from the group, they'd chase him around campus until he did whatever they wanted. And he didn't particularly feel like letting them know which room he was in… even if they might figure that out eventually.

The three were quiet for a moment, assessing him before the two that held his arms looked to their conspirator, clearly baffled over what to do next. The frontal boy's eyebrow twitched. "Fine," he said. "Seeing as you're so eager to get started—"He waved away the two's grip on Ralph's arms.

"You gotta go into the chapel… go straight in there and take the communion wine. Bring it back to us." The two boys on each side of Ralph snickered heartily. The frontal boy beamed, proud of his idea, and watched for the blond's reaction. If he refused, there was always the more physical alternative, which provided them with just as much entertainment. Ralph looked down at the tiled floor, feeling his gut twist.

"And what if it's not there?" he countered.

"You better pray that you find it there or you're just going to have to do another ritual tomorrow night," the boy's eyes glinted with the possibilities filtering through his mind.

"Fine," Ralph spoke in a low, quiet voice. _Filthy savages_.

The boys laughed some more, while the one in front glared at them. "C'mon, guys—have some class; this is a grade-A mission. One of the best initiations I've ever thought of. Let's go do this." His face still plastered with condescending excitement as he left the washroom. His friends shoved Ralph along, telling him how honored he should feel at getting such an elite mission. One that would show his worth. Ralph fought the urge to mutter a sarcastic retort currently brewing within his mind, though settled with trying not to think of how stupid the whole affair was.

By the time they were outside the boy's dormitories, they felt a strong wind claw at their nightclothes, ruffling their hair. The night was surprisingly clear compared to the cloudy morning and afternoon. The star speckled sky displayed a full moon, giving off an eerie glow to the timeworn buildings. As they approached the chapel, Ralph was relieved to see that there was no movement from anywhere else thus far. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble on his first day of being there. The stain-glassed windows were dark, giving off none of the beautifully colored light from before, only revealing the oppressive shadows from within. Ralph's insides shivered at the deadness of everything. Even his hazers seemed to have been slightly spooked by the sight.

"Well, we're… here," the leader forced a small, unconvincing laugh as they approached the chapel doors. They were ajar. The hazers exchanged nervous glances with each other.

"Um… w-why are the d-doors open?" One of the boys next to Ralph stuttered. A strong wind whistled through the trees. They all cringed.

"You idiots," the leader spat. "Someone just forgot to shut them properly and the wind must've blown them open a little… God, you're a bunch of bleeding pansies." And with that, they all turned to Ralph, waiting for him to make his move.

He took a few steps ahead of them, trying to ignore the sudden nervousness that now threatened his look of indifference, sprung from the intense fear of the others. Initially, he hadn't thought much of it. Fear was contagious, it would seem.

A memory from the island flashed through his mind, of when Ralph, Jack, and Roger all froze upon moving closer to the mountain with the supposed beast on it. Neither of them wanted to go first… until Ralph somewhat goaded Jack into doing it, asking if he was afraid. Jack, in his obstinacy, would never admit to anything of the sort, especially in front of the Chief (of the time) and had taken the first steps into the unpredictable darkness.

_Well if he can do it, so can I._

Ralph approached the jarred doors, one of them creakily swayed in the wind as he took tentative steps into the dark chapel. He was faintly awed by the sight of the moonlight filtering in through the stain-glassed windows, decorating the pews and aisle with uniform shapes and dim colors. His eyes adjusted within several seconds to the point where he could see the faint outlines of the front section of the church, which was even more thickly bathed in shadows. He took a few more steps down the aisle, now in-between the pews before he heard the creaking of the old doors again. Not paying much attention to them, he continued to admire the nightly vision of the church. It was when he heard the doors slam shut that Ralph felt the rise of latent panic, feeling nearly claustrophobic in the dark-enclosed space. He ran back to the doors, banging on the thick, rattling wood with his fists.

"Hey!" He shouted, but could only hear violent fits of laughter on the other side. Soon the amused howling faded and was exclusively replaced by the thick muteness of solitude. He strained at opening the doors, and knew for certain after several fruitless tries, that they wouldn't budge. They had locked him in! The entire thing was probably a setup. He cried a small string of obscenities before remembering that he was in a chapel. Empty or not, he was conditioned enough by society to feel badly about it. So he fell silent.

Feeling a little defeated, he walked up the aisle, towards the dark front of the chapel and began to wonder how much trouble he was going to be in when morning came and someone from the administration found him here. Ralph sighed, agitated and tired upon reaching the podium. He highly doubted that there would be any communal wine here anyway. They wouldn't leave stuff like that just lying around, Ralph pondered as he circled the podium, leaning against the smooth wood once he reached the back. Feeling curious and a bit bored, he kneeled down to look at the compartments of the podium, poking his fingers in some, seeing if any would give away. He found several stacks of papers, most likely sermon notes, but a small, tiny opening popped open that he would have completely missed had he not been feeling around in the dark, focusing on touch instead of sight. He reached in and his fingertips met with smooth glass.

Even more curious than before, Ralph reached in further, grasped at it, and pulled. Out popped a bottle of gin. He recognized it by the label when he slanted it gradually towards the window-filtered moonlight.

"What the—", he was interrupted by the sudden clamor of a door behind him opening as he still faced the podium. A light shown onto his face as he turned towards the noise, briefly blinding his sight.

_Oh, shit. I'm done for. _Ralph swallowed with great difficulty, waiting for the impending shout, demanding his explanation for why he was there... _and what he was doing_. Ralph blushed madly when he remembered the gin still in his hand and suddenly felt like he was going to be sick.

"Well, well, Ralph… I never took you for one to have such interesting hobbies."

The beam of light clicked off, allowing Ralph to adjust once again to the darkness within seconds. He could only see a vague outline, though the voice rung a startling chord of familiarity. Nothing would make him forget that voice—silken and pleasant, yet treacherous.

The shadow moved closer to the podium. A shaft of the fallen moonlight poured over the figure's explosion of untidy, red hair. Ralph's body reacted involuntarily and backed away—too fast, he noted a bit too late—as he felt the edge of a table grind painfully into his lower back. The bottle slipped from his clammy palm, hitting the dense carpet, creating only a light thump as the thick glass made contact. His body thrummed with sinister anticipation. Here he was alone and locked in a dark room with one of _them_. And not just _any_ one of them… Jack.

He wanted nothing more in that moment than to be swallowed by the earth, to be taken anywhere away from the savage that stood a mere arm's length away from him. He was dressed in the normal school attire and looked down at Ralph with the same odd expression from earlier. Ralph's eyes averted, believing it to simply be a trick of the deprived light, for when he looked back; the familiar, cool stare was intact over his freckled face.

Ralph got himself up quickly, adjusting disheveled clothing.

"What are you doing here?" Ralph murmured, low and frigid. He turned his face slightly, unwilling to look directly at his former rival.

"Funny. I could ask you the same thing," Jack said, though his voice was completely devoid of humor… that is until he picked up whatever fell to the ground, his eyes squinted slightly in the bad light. Then, a peculiar noise rose from the back of his throat. He was laughing.

Shock tightened Ralph's stomach upon hearing such a sound coming from him; he snapped his head back towards the chorister, a look of bewilderment and disbelief crossing his features. At one point Jack clutched at his sides, he was laughing so hard, though miraculously held onto the bottle. Only then did it start to grate on the blond's nerves. It wasn't _that_ funny… or was it? He flushed.

"So… do you like drinking in chapels… or are you actually sneaking around, pilfering _sacred_ items from this _devout_ building?" His barbed words were dripping with sarcasm, but remnants of the slackened laughter continued to dart about the edges of his speech, barely able to make what he was saying coherent.

The wild redness from before returned to Ralph's face with a vengeance. He looked down at the floor, waiting for the laughter to die. It did eventually, though the amused glimmer within Jack's eyes never truly left.

"It's nothing. Certainly none of _your_ concern," Ralph said, refusing to indulge him any further. He would certainly not be laughed at again. He just wanted Jack gone.

"It sure as hell looks like nothing. Judging by those three locking you in here…" Again with the sarcasm. It ended with a fluid shrug of Jack's shoulders, as if the truth were fairly dull compared to either of his suggested scenarios. He carefully settled the bottle on the podium, so that it faced the sea of pews, standing proud and clearly visible. How theatrical.

"You saw that?" Ralph inquired. His eyes were drawn towards the bottle before slinking back to the chorister. A stomach-turning brew of confusion and mortification burned beneath his skin. He was sure that there was no one else here by the time he had arrived.

"Hm," Jack turned to face him, his shadow stalking closer as long fingers tapered along the side the podium—deceptively affectionate, though the raw amount of stifling intensity shone through his gaze as it landed once more upon Ralph. His jaw was set hard. The overall regard set Ralph on edge, instantly imagining how a cat might sometimes tenaciously toy with its captured game.

"I passed them on the lawn, obviously pleased with themselves… so I went to see the damage." Here he grinned, with nimble ease, a contrast to his tense body as he drew even closer to Ralph, his eyes making a brief assessment over him. His movement was undeniably predatorial. And he displayed little shame in the act. The blond tried to hide the shudder as it rippled through his flesh.

"I didn't expect that they'd leave a little something like you behind. And not even a scratch…" Jack's speech faded.

Ralph frowned, unsure of how to react to that. He took a more practical route. "How-"He swallowed, steadying his voice before glancing quickly at the large doors, still bolted. Jack's sharp eyes followed his line of sight. "How did you get in here, then?"

"Through the back," Jack said it like it was no big secret. "I come here almost every morning for practice. Those old doors are a bother."

Curiosity riddled rickety thoughts as Ralph stole a deeper glance at Jack. He seemed… different. The image of the wild, impulsive redhead that Ralph knew on the island felt vastly dissimilar from what stood before him now. But of course, he knew not to put faith in appearances. Even he was putting on a display for everyone, hiding the silhouette beneath, the savage whose nails would forever be stained with innocent blood. The alteration at that moment felt sickly strange to the fair-haired boy. He didn't feel like the same savage that he was meant to revile. _It must be some sort of trick_—Ralph quickly surmised. The fog of his troubling thoughts dissipated the moment he heard Jack speak.

"So… _did_ they do anything to you?" He said. The voice lowering with a dark fierceness that was of a comforting familiarity to Ralph. He extracted himself from the physical nearness of Jack. Instant satisfaction warmed him, seeing the dissatisfied hardness crawl into his rival's blue eyes.

"What do you care?" Ralph quietly snapped. Though it was hushed, it harbored enough sharpness to force a tense disruption within the air. The redhead blinked before taking his own leave from the blond, drawing closer to the wall with the large crucifix.

His silence quickly became unnerving. Ralph had expected him to say something back, anything that would undoubtedly start just another heated argument between them… but nothing came. Ralph waited, his fists compressed. Only the sound of the hair-raising howling of the wind occupied the emptiness between them as it caressed the chapel walls. He risked another glance at the redhead, only to see that Jack had completely turned away from him, fixated on the crucifix. In the light, it was an elegant rendition, though in the shadows, it took on the appearance of a grotesque, black growth on the immaculate wall.

"Look—can you just show me the way out?" Ralph inquired as mildly as his growing frustration would allow.

"It's been almost three years. Three fucking long years. Don't you think we have _a few_ things to talk about before we go on pretending that the other doesn't exist? Crazy idea, I know." Jack's voice crept forward. An enigmatic smirk flashed across his face upon turning around. Ralph's gaze connected with the former hunter, the ugly warmth of fury reignited. His jaw flexed, tightened with unbidden emotion, though spoke with a surprising amount of control.

"What is it you're trying to say, exactly?" The tone wasn't kind, it was accusatory.

Jack's head jerked to the side, his body turned a little, regarding the shadow of his adversary as he casually leaned against the table. Pale fingers tapped an aggravated rhythm upon the surface.

"Was I wrong in thinking that you were somewhat intelligent? All I said was that we should talk. That's all. Or is even that abstract too complicated for you?" Jack's familiar snark revealed that his patience with him was now tempting a slippery slope. Ralph felt strangely comforted by the falling of the guise, to hear a hint of the old Jack resurfacing. _This_ he could deal with… not the possibly somewhat civil imposter that had stood there for a brief moment.

"There's no reason for _you_ to get short." Ralph grunted.

"Then don't ask stupid questions."

"I think that I'm entitled to ask all the stupid questions I want with you."

Jack exhaled a quick, irked breath. "If you're going to act like such a child, then just forget the whole thing."

"Fine by me. Just don't think that I honestly give a shit enough to actually listen to anything you have to say… because you obviously don't give a shit for anything else that walks the earth, Merridew. Everything and everyone apart from you." Ralph spoke the last part so quietly; Jack barely caught the words, even with his keen hearing.

Jack clenched his fists so tightly at his sides; he felt his nails bite painfully into his palms. "That's not true. And don't think for a damn second that you know anything about me," his voice was heavy, now laced with dangerous warning. It sounded typical of him and it served to further ease Ralph's apprehension.

"Oh, don't I? I probably know you a hell of a lot better than anyone else out there who thinks they do." Ralph spat at him. He got up from leaning against the table, fully facing him, his eyes blazing. Challenging.

"Not really. Contrary to what you may think—" Jack paused; his tone was still harsh and held a sudden dark undertone, though what he was going to say felt so strange, so difficult, he almost stopped entirely. Yet, he knew that it was something that would eventually need to be said. Something that he had worked through his tangled mind over the years. A fragment that he had combed out of a particularly vicious knot—one that coagulated his thoughts every time he came across it. "—I actually do give a shit. Maybe not about much, but it's there all the same." There. Jack said them, but couldn't get back the horrible taste that they held. His body felt a simultaneous sense of respite and aversion.

Ralph paused, felt his breathing shortened.

"I find that hard to believe, Jack. Do you honestly think that I'm that stupid—to fall for that?" Ralph tried hard to not clench his teeth as he spoke, his eyes pricked annoyingly, though he remained angry, attempting to conceal the emotion that threatened to take hold of him. He had to hide the fissures within his sanity that revealed how wrecked he was—a near mental case. He had his own mask to wear since rescue—one that showed that he still belonged and fit into the civilized world.

"You tried to kill me. You remember that, right?" His voice turned cynical. "You tried to fucking _kill_ me."

Jack swallowed tightly, his eyes averted just for a moment. It wasn't enjoyable to watch Ralph like this, to see how fractured he had become, no matter how tightly he tried to shoulder the skin of rage. Despite deriving pleasure from invoking fear and sometimes even pain, he received little satisfaction from madness. It was a truly frightening leech. It reminded him too much of the former hunters that he had already lost. The ones that were taken away from their families—their minds badly eroded. And although it wasn't entirely the same, Jack could feel similar afflictions from the island. Ones that no one could see—no outward scars, but he still felt them all the same. He was bleeding behind his mask—bleeding behind his grin. And it wouldn't stop. He felt like a member of a hopelessly decaying clan.

And they were now the owners of awareness. Something that could never be wiped away. A disease that either continued to eat away at them or ultimately thickened their skin.

Every single one of them.

"Ralph…" Jack paused for a few more moments, watching Ralph's frame as the blond continued to seethe. "I wouldn't have gone through with it." Or at least that's what he thought, what he craved to be true, what he yearned. In the end, the harsh truth was that Jack wasn't even sure himself. He was too wrapped up in his own world back then, obsessed with his rising craving for power, flesh and blood. And in a way… he wasn't sure if that side of him would ever completely fade.

The other side of him—the one that dared to redeem the savage… the one that he now displayed was one that he tried hard to strengthen within the past year. As a means of concealment for the society that they had abruptly reentered. Of course, it would be untrue to say that he had changed. He hadn't—just developed.

"I really find that hard to believe," Ralph repeated his statement from before, a little milder, but still jaded. He exhaled briefly, suddenly aware of how tired he was getting. Tired of being up so late. Tired of arguing. And tired of Jack. He turned away from him and began to walk down the aisle, towards the chapel doors.

"Hey!" Jack took off after him; a gush of primitive rage scorched his gut.

'_How _dare_ he turn his back on me!'_ Jack silently fumed.

Ralph nearly sprinted when he heard the chorister coming at him from behind, though in his listless state, forgot that the doors were still barred. Cursing quietly, he turned around with his back now to the door, just in time to see Jack stop just before him. Jack's outstretched palms rested against the chapel doors on each side of Ralph's shoulders, trapping him. Worried, dull eyes connected with Jack's icy stare, immediately seeing that he was nearly a head taller, much to his disdain. The blond suddenly felt an outpouring of practiced fear, being confined with Jack so close, nearly breathing down his neck. Ralph's hands flattened against the church door by his sides, his sweaty palms slick against the wood. Remembered sensations from his nightly visitations flashed through his mind's eye. His pulse lurched.

"Dammit, Ralph!" Jack slammed against the door with one of his fists, causing a slight vibration in the wood that Ralph could feel from the back of his skull. "I'm not lying."

Ralph didn't know what to say. He was quite honestly, still nervous and didn't want to utter anything that might further set him off… not when the savage was this close to him.

Jack, feeling the fear practically radiating off the blond, felt an old flutter of primitive excitement heat his insides, one that he hadn't felt in years—one that made him feel alive.

He had forgotten how good this felt. Jack smirked before loosening one of his hands from the door, allowing a stray finger to brush the side of his long lost prey's face. The face that he tried so many times to forget after the island, the image that nearly drove him mad with hate, envy, and want— all wrapped up in such raw, perplexing confusion on the island.

The first time such intensity had flared, it had startled him. And he hated it. Hated the lure that Ralph had become—one that only grew more potent the longer he resisted, the longer he eluded capture. Amidst everything, he knew that he would never feel completely satisfied until he had fulfilled his hunter's craving—for his very skin, for the blood that pulsated beneath, for his maddeningly blond hair, and for his forbidden warmth. Only years later, as the memory of his prey's face remained, pulling and toying with his mind, did he realize that he wanted him in the exact way that would indisputably appall the church _and_ his parents. The thought filled him with a sick satisfaction that both warmed and hardened him.

He never planned for this to happen. It just did. Nothing in this world ever seemed to go according to plan. He remembered how he tried so hard to impress the fair-haired chief during their brief attempt at a normal friendship—with his strength and his skill as a hunter and yet for all his efforts, Ralph barely even acknowledged him. He never praised him. It birthed only scathing jealousy for that blasted Piggy, because he was always got to be so near him, his intelligence and reliability impressed Ralph in a way where Jack fell short.

He thought of all this as he observed Ralph's petrified face. One that he thought he might never see again after the island. His pretty face—the perfect mask for society. A mask that Jack had never been able to truly craft for himself. It was only another reason to scorn him. Jack's hand came up to his prey's cheek again, though there was more pressure than before, as if he were now more substantial than thin glass. A face of flesh and blood, not the fragments of a specter.

Ralph's eyes widened, heavily befuddled as to what Jack's intentions were. "_What's he waiting for? Perhaps he's _been_ mad this whole time and I've just been talking to a lunatic."_ His drowsy mind barely registered what was going on. Slow to react.

Jack's hands went just a bit higher until his fingertips made contact with the base of his hair, taking odd note within the back of his head that it was as soft as it looked. Ralph's breath came just a bit easier and he did a stupid thing. Something that should never be done in front of a practiced hunter—even if formerly.

He allowed his guard to temper, involuntarily lulled at Jack's slowness and the apparent placidness of his actions. Even when Jack's face came closer to his, so close that their noses touched, Ralph didn't respond like he normally would have, as if entranced, though still vastly confused. Jack, with his slanted mouth, pressed his lips against Ralph's.

Ralph froze, shock inducing his system as he felt the redhead kiss him. He was actually kissing him! Jack attempted to deepen the contact, though it was difficult with a mouth as compliant as cold stone. A warm, wet tongue drew across Ralph's closed mouth, instantly savoring the flavor of forbidden skin. Jack's heart was beating hard… and he wanted more… his hands moved from the door and Ralph's cheek, and imbedded roughly within his messy, blond tresses. His mouth now moved powerfully, dominantly as his fingers wove through silk-like hair. The combined stimulus was intoxicating.

If he wasn't already marked for Hell, Jack was sure that this alone would certainly forever seal away his dark soul—kissing another boy—especially in a place deemed sacred by society. The morbidly comical thought nearly made him laugh. Second time laughing tonight. This was a record. He couldn't see how he could bend humanity's pointless rules more than he was now, though he was sure that he'd find a way.

_Oh God_, _how he wanted him_… Lust pulsed through his veins as he moved closer to his captive's body, relishing the heat radiating from him.

Ralph, on the receiving end, was growing increasingly panicked and mortified the more he began to comprehend the situation. He waited, still as death, until Jack pulled back his mouth, slowly ending the kiss, releasing for want of air. And it was at that exact moment that Ralph's creeping hands, slowly getting closer to Jack's chest, pushed as hard as he could, effectively removing him from the uninvited proximity. And when he was far away enough, Ralph did the only rational thing that any boy caught off guard would have done in his place; he swung his fist and felt it meet an unguarded jaw.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" Ralph shouted, hoping to shake him out of whatever dark thing currently possessed him. "You can't do that! Y-you just can't…" His voice tapered, the burning shame draining away his conviction.

Jack stumbled back, cursing, his body still tingling pleasantly, his mouth alive with the taste of his sweet prey. His hand sheepishly touched the injured side of his face, instantly buzzing with pain. He felt a bit of his old self creep back into his stubborn want. When he wanted—no, _needed_ something, he was never content to just _let_ it go free. He smiled at Ralph. Dark blood trickled from the corner of his smug mouth.

Ralph saw it. He perceived the familiar impish glint within his eyes… and he knew that it was reserved entirely for him. Ralph felt the deep-rooted panic run ramped within his chest at being the hunted once again, the very fuel of his nightmares.

"Get away from me," Ralph's voice audibly trembled with familiar fear and enmity as he dashed to the side, racing down the side of the pews, towards the front of the church. He heard Jack behind him, hot on his heels. Jack grinned as he immediately took off after him, savoring the delicious onslaught of the hunter's high that had lain dormant for so long.

How did he get on with life without it? And the fact that Ralph was his target only added to the succulence of the moment.

Ralph slowed, his eyes feverishly seeking the door that Jack emerged from awhile ago. Within mili-seconds, Ralph spotted its elusive outline and stumbled towards it, as he felt Jack's fingertips graze the back of his t-shirt, nearly snatching him.

As Ralph collided against the wall alongside the door, he scrambled through the doorframe just as he felt Jack's powerful hand ensnare his wrist. Ralph cried something meaningless out of sheer horror as he pulled at his trapped limb. He heard Jack snicker on the other side of the door triumphantly, which only fueled Ralph's hatred, and with a violent jolt, released his wrist, now prickling with a bloodless absence of feeling. He darted into the unfamiliar room. Panic clawed at his gut with the fact that he was unsure of where he was and that Jack probably knew this place better than the back of his hand.

"Oh, shit. Shit. Shit." Ralph spewed his rattled fury as he raced to the far side of the room, knocking and nearly stumbling over a music stand, sending sheet music flying everywhere. His shin struck painfully hard against the choir stands that were virtually invisible in the dark room. He lurched forward, barely catching himself and twisting his body so that the stand's jabbed tenderly into his back and thighs instead of the front of his substantially more fragile ribcage.

Jack was on top of him within the second, straddling him, pinning his wrists painfully hard over his head. The hunter chuckled, a little breathless as he brought his mouth closer to Ralph's, claiming his victory and prize in their struggle. A sardonic smile tightened his jaw.

"Such nasty words from an innocent mouth," Jack commented, mockingly lazy as he brushed his mouth against the blond's before lifting his face slightly. He fancied the thought that Ralph might have never even had his first kiss yet.

Ralph stilled suddenly, cold awareness of his helplessness in this situation trickled down his shivering spine. In a dark unknown room, pinned by his enemy, and completely worn out from lack of sleep and the dealings of mental plague. He still panted for air from his flustered attempt at escape and the slightly opened mouth provided the perfect opportunity for the aggressor. Jack quickly connecting his mouth to Ralph's, prying his soft lips even further before plunging in his tongue, a pool of undiscovered liquid warmth, causing his entire body to throb with thick desire. Ralph could taste remnants of Jack's blood. Wetness slid and teeth clicked as a grunt of unadulterated need was poured into the blond's mouth. Ralph cringed, finally able to strain his head to the far side, forcing Jack's tongue to trail from his mouth onto the expanse of his smooth cheek. The open mouthed kisses only continued, thorough and wet down the length of his jaw and across his chin before biting hard on the sinuous lower lip. Pulling gently before releasing. Ralph hissed, pain erupting beneath Jack's incisors.

"Please—"Ralph pleaded, hating the very idea of resorting to this. The utter loss of power in this situation felt absolutely terrifying and it tore at his sanity, breaking his already fragile hold over it.

"Please—stop." He repeated with a bit more strength. He couldn't stop the warm treks of wetness as they traveled down the corners of his eyes, gravity pulling them past his ears as he remained laying down. He already felt humiliated, so letting Jack see him like this wasn't going to make him feel any worse than what was possible.

Jack seemed to pay him no heed, completely unaware as his mouth trailed to the enticing warmth of the blond's vulnerable neck. Having the savage's teeth so close to his vital pulse struck a frightening chord within Ralph—visions of his nightmare slaughtering his sane hold over himself. Ralph squeezed his eyes shut as his heart thudded. A heavy, fearful rhythm beneath Jack's lips.

"Jack!" Ralph shouted. His eyelids opened. Jack jerked his head up, woken from his previous, drunken endeavor. His cloudy, desire-ridden eyes cleared slightly at the sight of Ralph's less than favorable reaction. "Please, let me go."

Jack felt strange, observing the seeming torment that he had caused. He was doing it again—acting too quickly, too tactlessly. He paused, still unsure with what to do. His need was still there, excited, throbbing, and so present that it was painful and yet the side that still held the warped conscience reproved him. Ralph noticed the clash in his face and dared to connect with the conflicted stare. Steely blue met sullied crystal.

"If you really give a shit…" Ralph felt instant, cold revulsion shiver throughout his frame, repeating Jack's previous sentiment, but meekly played along for now if would ensure freedom. "… then, you wouldn't do this. Please—just let go."

The hunter's attention piqued at the words and despite his intensions, listened. It was rational; though Jack's thoughts were riddled with confusion as he unenthusiastically released Ralph's wrists, feeling an unpracticed bout of disgust.

Since when did he ever start feeling guilty? Jack fumed. All this he hid, turning his face away. When he looked back, he felt a nauseating churn within his stomach. Ralph had turned on his side, furthest from him, trembling in the slightest and breathing slowly, easing away the aftershock.

"Are you ok?" Jack asked, oddly startled. "Do you need help?"

Ralph inclined away from the suggestion. His mind answered, snide and useless, "_Yeah, arsehole. Why wouldn't I be ok? I was only just attacked and molested_." Instead, he just muttered the first halfway decent reply that came to mind. "Don't be stupid. Just… show me how to get out of here." He avoided Jack's searching gaze. Driven by impatience, Jack reached out, nonetheless. Startled by his movement, Ralph gasped, violently recoiling as if the hand were glazed with poison.

"No! Don't touch me." His heart hammered painfully in his chest at the thought of being trapped again.

The blond's repugnant retreat from him hurt more than he thought it would. Before he could ponder further over it or before taking it out on something that he might later regret, he rammed his fist into the wall. Another music stand was bashed over. Teeth grit with painful tightness as he took it out on the rest of the room, smashing, striking, and damaging. Something shattered. And for a moment, he was eight years old again, rummaging through and destroying his father's study. All beneath the nose of the imposing blue-blood. Standing. Staring. Unfeeling. The biting pain stung as damaged skin began to appear over his knuckles and the sides of his forearms. It slowly instigated a soothing numbness over the fire. He ceased, his muscles thrumming with the high, temporarily spent.

Ralph sat himself up, his dry, wide-eyed in careful observation of the rampant other. He had never seen him show this much loss of control. The only event he could compare this to was when Jack had left him on the island—when he said that he wouldn't play with him anymore—wanted to form his own tribe. He was probably the only one to notice the slight wetness in the corners of Jack's eyes as he walked away that day so long ago. Ralph stood on slightly shaking legs as he slowly backed from the redhead, carefully feeling behind him until his back hit the windowed wall. Dark eyes surveyed the various undistinguishable shapes of the room until he thought he found a door. He palmed the brass doorknob, trying to open it, despite his slippery hands. It was then that Jack came back to his senses, noticing Ralph trying to get out on his own.

"You won't have much luck going through there. That's the closet." Jack's deadpan voice rang out, remarkably calm and steady after his outburst. He drew nearer and soon walked past Ralph, ignoring the way that the blond flattened himself against the wall to avoid touching him.

Jack's peeved frown only tightened as he walked on, leading through the hallway. Ralph tentatively followed, distancing himself somewhat, thankful that there was only silence between them as Jack led him through another room. The final door was opened, the door to the outside. Jack stood to the side, holding the door for him. Ralph's nerves reawaken slightly beneath clammy skin, though Jack was still as death as he waited. Eyes were downcast. A cool, fresh breeze brushed Ralph's face, soothing the physical tension as he stepped outside, straight onto the lawn. He heard Jack follow soon after securing the door.

"You can find your own way back, I trust," Jack muttered. His insides felt drained, almost beaten as he avoided looking at Ralph. Instead, he observed a nearby cluster of trees, and how their leaves playfully shuddered in the wind. Ralph looked quietly over at Jack—at his lost expression. They were motionless in the forlorn minute, listening to the requiem of the autumn leaves. The bright blue gaze was momentarily uncloaked, revealing a chaotic fusion of apprehension and bewilderment. The exposure of such visual honesty made, even Ralph, feel uncomfortable, as if he were viewing something supremely private. His observation shifted towards the ground.

"Jack—"Ralph began to speak, though he suddenly didn't know how to end it.

Despite Jack's resolve to ignore him, his unbidden eyes were instantly pulled to the blond when he heard him say his name. It sounded so strange when it was unbound by hate; it forced a small flutter of life to his limbs as he shifted. Breath caught in his throat at the sight of this ethereal version of Ralph, visible only by the moon's mild cast. Pale light gleamed on skin; his fair hair seemed to soften beneath the moon's gentle caress as his head tilted slightly, now openly staring back at him.

It was salt in the open wound and it suddenly made him angry—angry to see him like this—and to know that he would never submit to him. Ralph would always fight him, struggle against him, and look at him with such vile regard.

_Was he doing this on purpose? Was this his twisted attempt at revenge?_ Jack scoffed away the rejection as he tried to tear his gaze away, but couldn't. His attention was grudgingly snared. He thought he would never see him again and yet here he stood, appearing in his life as suddenly as he had left it. Perhaps God saw it fit to torment him for his bloodied, soiled deeds, in the form of an avenging angel. An angel that despised him. An angel that he wanted for himself.

"Don't you _dare_ look at me like that!" Jack hurled an ugly snarl at Ralph. His eyes of ice were now filled with a spontaneous and terrible wrath, almost wishing for a fleeting moment that he did have another spear to throw at him. "Just go!"

Ralph's eyes only revealed more stinging empathy as it filtered through his agitated skin, so he quickly turned away, obscuring his face from him as he began to make his way back towards the boys' dormitory.

_Why do I feel sorry for him? He _should_ feel bad! He bloody well deserves whatever's bothering him_.

And yet Ralph felt no justice. It didn't make him feel any better to leave Jack like that. He was still broken. Still a tainted human being from the moment that he had first stepped off that island. Nothing could change that fact. And for the first time, Ralph realized that they had all been stained… even Jack.

He walked wearily the rest of the way, nearly stumbling until he reached his room, his eyes refusing to stay entirely dry the whole while, even as he collapsed gratefully onto his welcoming bed. His remorse followed him into his dreams. Although the bloodied violence was unexpectedly absent, his unconscious mind continued to mourn, refusing to let the conscious part of him forget its torment—its harrowing misery.

.

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><p><strong>More to come soon.<strong>

**Don't forget to leave a review. :)**


	4. A Predator's Payback

**A/N: **Here you go, my lovlies. Thanks for the reviews! They seriously mean so much to me. I'm open to constructive criticism as well, so don't hold back. :) If you like this, then let me know, and I'll make sure to keep doing what I'm doing. Thanks readers!

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><p><strong>Chapter 4 — A Predator's Payback<strong>

"_There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter."_

_-Ernest Hemingway_

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

Their parting on the lawn outside the chapel had not gone unseen, although the spectator wasn't close enough to catch the words that had been exchanged. The dark hair was now out of his eyes, cut at a length that would accommodate the school dress code. Still, it grew unnaturally fast and the dark boy noted with mild contempt that he would need to get it cut again.

_Such a stupid inconvenience_…

Roger still wore his school clothes, despite the late hour. He didn't require much sleep, not since the island where he learned to get by on so little of it. He sauntered closer, moving effortlessly with a hunter's stealth, making as little noise as possible. Little ever did escape his notice, though he only feigned ignorance of the excessive details that triggered his senses.

The air was crisp and cool, the secreted smell of frost now a dead giveaway that winter was quickly approaching. The dry grass crumpled like paper beneath his shoes. The autumn colored leaves flapped, flustered and unusually loud in the gentle breeze—their crumbling corpses now stiff and fragile as a long dead tabby's ribcage. He knew because he once had a tabby.

Dark, vigilant eyes shot towards the fair boy as he made his way back to the dormitory. Roger felt the familiar, seductive flow of intense fanaticism, blackening his insides at the sight of the breathing, living Ralph. His very existence irked his cold skin, caused his fingers to itch, yearning to feel slippery, warm blood once more.

_He shouldn't be alive. His body should have long been decomposed, his sorry pile of bones being the only reminder that he ever existed on that island. And his blood… his blood…_ Roger thought all this beneath a face void of reaction. The only exception was the slight, increased oncoming of eager breath, a rush within his pulse. Just the thought of Ralph's heart continuing its relentless throb taunted him. It pulled at his sensetive nerves.

The blond's tread was unsteady, Roger's eyes calculated. Vulnerable. He allowed himself the tiniest of smiles at seeing him nearly stumble with exhaustion into the building's heavy doors before finally opening them, vanishing completely from his hunter's line of sight.

_Someday_. He soothed his heightened, provoked body before turning his once again impassive stare back towards Jack. The redhead continued to stand, frozen on the spot. Roger silently grumbled for not being close enough at the time to have eavesdropped on their conversation.

_What exactly had gone on here…?_

The last couple of years had been rather good to the hunters. Well… those that remained. All of the choristers were sent back to this school—their original one from before the island. Later, a number of them had either been pulled out by their parents before transferring elsewhere or were checked into the nearest mental institution. That was over the course of the two, almost three years that followed. Their numbers were fading fast. Now there was only him, Jack, Maurice, Bill... and Robert.

Roger's face tightened with revulsion upon thinking of Robert. He had been nothing but a useless, sniveling idiot since coming back. He became religious, always clutching a bible amidst his school books, mumbling prayers whenever he could, and staying within the chapel during his free time. He constantly sobbed about clemency and how nobody from Heaven probably refused to open their ears for him.

"The hollers of a black sinner," as the chorister put it. Roger always looked at Robert as if he were prattling in some unknown language whenever he said things like that. If he could place a wager on who would lose their head next, he would say Robert's name without a moment's hesitation.

On the contrary, Maurice and Bill became pleasant enough surprises. They ran in the opposite direction that Robert had chosen. They wallowed luxuriously in their knowledge. In their capabilities. The three of them were quick to resume their former habit of picking on the little kids from the neighboring academy: the precursor to this school. They enjoyed tormenting the older kids here as well and were close confidants for Roger whenever he needed their aid in focusing on new victims. Of course, he never did enough to be expelled nor was he stupid enough to get caught.

They weren't friends. Solitude was their companion whenever there was a lack of someone interesting to torment. To latch their wicked delight onto. They were simply united in their common desire to hurt, to drag out those sounds of torment from unwilling mouths. They were the bullies of the school—and Jack had been their leader… for a time. It was only until recently that he had been more to himself than anything.

_Jack_… Roger frowned as he halted in his advance. He observed the tall, redhead like a shameless voyeur as he continued to stand by the chapel, facing the direction that Ralph had left. Roger always felt a connection with the head chorister. He was an exceptional hunter on the island, something that Roger had assessed for himself with shrewd appraisal. He watched every movement, judged his reaction time, his aim, his ferocity. And while he wasn't perfect, as Roger thought that he could've been more brutal, a little more intelligent, and without the bi-polar tendencies; he found that the redhead's skill as a hunter could at times surpass his flaws. The dark boy was somewhat pleased that he had found someone like himself. Someone that reviled constraints… who harbored such similar cravings for control. United in their lust for blood.

Roger had been vigilant in keeping himself aligned with Jack, while remaining within general obscurity. The other hunters did likewise. While Jack resumed his position as the head chorister once they'd gotten back, he did not apply himself more than what was absolutely necessary of him within school. Roger still wasn't sure of how to take this slight change within their former leader. Aside from the savagery and cool collectiveness that still lingered, Jack's eyes tended to look more lost within the past few months, giving the impression that he might not take as long to crack as Roger had anticipated. Like the others.

Despite all this, Roger still trailed him, some of the time with Jack being oblivious, still feeling the ties of dark fixation and loyalty that he still possessed for his chief.

He approached Jack from behind with practiced furtiveness, pleased that he could still sneak up on him unawares. The curiosity of Jack's hidden expression got the better of him and Roger straightened his own features before calling out, "Chief."

It hadn't felt right to call him anything else, so he continued to use that title with him in private. Roger hid the growing amusement boiling within his chest as he watched him.

Jack's frame jumped, he half turned, his accusing blue eyes searching.

Roger smiled, satisfied.

When Jack's gaze found his, Roger delight faded behind a stoic guise. "Fancy seeing you here," He spoke in a clear, relaxed voice.

Jack paused; his eyes looking slightly conflicted before thinking up a response. He settled into a stance of mild exasperation. "How long have you been standing there?"

Roger shrugged and managed to look bored, despite the fact that he felt like laughing at Jack's obvious discomfort. "Not long…" He paused, pretending to think about his response a little longer before speaking again, his face the epitome of guiltless virtue. "Well… I guess long enough to see you talking to Medevane." He reverted to Ralph's second name.

Jack was alarmed, plain as day. He tended to wear his passion on his sleeve, Roger had noticed long ago. Almost as if they were too potent, too overwhelming to be stifled. Jack also seemed a bit restless upon seeing the dark boy's expression. A seemingly innocent look on Roger was a disturbing sight to the redhead. "What did you hear?" Jack's eyes narrowed in the slightest.

"Nothing," Roger said. He watched the alarm slowly leak from Jack's face in that instant and was even more madly curious of the unheard exchange. Jack was his calm self again as he glanced towards the boys' dormitory.

"What are you going to do to him?" Roger asked, trying to keep his excited imagination at bay.

"I don't know," Jack answered without pause. He sounded wary. "Does something _need_ to be done?" He had meant to sound cynical, but his voice only managed to resemble the dead, empty air that surrounded them.

Roger sighed, faintly irritated. _What the fuck was wrong with his chief? He was sure that the Jack from a few months ago would have jumped at the prospect_. He suddenly began to wonder _where_ exactly Jack had gone that summer... His shadowed eyes hardened in enigmatic thought.

"Of course something should be done." Roger snapped softly. Jack now began to look at him carefully, considering. Roger lost a little of his own coolness as hot ardor for the subject took control, his mask slipping slightly. "He's prey. And he will always be _yours_… nothing will change that fact." The dark boy's breathing quickened.

He held a principle that civilization would call abnormal—one of a hunter's dark ownership over his designated prey. It was a blood claim. A right. He parted his lips in a savage grin when he noticed that Jack appeared to be deliberating. He hadn't shrugged off his implications like he suspected he might… but genuinely seemed to absorb them.

On Jack's end, he couldn't help but to fall for, to immerse himself within the seduction of Roger's words, for his assumption of what Ralph was to him. Prey. His icy veins thawed. No matter what forces tried to take him away or say otherwise. Jack's gut thrilled at the thought. Growing up and since being back, Jack had never wanted for anything. His family was of the wealthiest. They were of old money on top of his father being in a partnership of a prominent business. Being the only child, he got everything he ever wanted and some. The idea of retaining something so scandalous, so magnificent stole his slightly rattled breathe for a moment. Jack caught himself before falling even deeper within the pit of thought. His eyes lost their gleam as he eyed Roger, the wariness rapidly trickling back, his arms casually folded.

"What are you doing out here, Irvine?" He resumed the question that had been sweltering within his mind since he saw him, reverting to Roger's surname in the process as he had done to Ralph.

Roger was unaffected. "I just happened to see you out here. Pure accident. I'm looking for Maurice and Bill. They were supposed to meet me here about now." He checked his watch. It was three in the morning. They were late. He growled softly. "I don't know what's keeping them."

Jack frowned. The three of them together usually meant that something bad was about to happen. "What are you up to...?"

"Hmm," Roger scanned the area for any movement, becoming increasingly bothered that the others weren't there. _He_ was always on time. He was actually rather meticulous about such things. "_The others can be such incompetent morons at times_…" the dark boy mentally smoldered.

Jack only noticed his companion's growing irritation through the way that his hand tightened and relaxed before snaring itself deep within his pocket. He looked back at Jack, a startlingly delighted smile displayed, a flash of white teeth in the dark. "Why do you ask? Would you like to join us? It's been… long enough."

Jack stiffened. It had been three months, to be exact, since he had last been with them on their torment escapades.

A tight frown began to form upon Roger at the stifling silence that followed. He changed tactics. "Have you tried out your new ride yet?" He knew from Jack that his father had given him a motorcycle for his recently passed seventeenth birthday. It was beautiful—a classic. Jack's teeth grit painfully as he shook his head ever so slightly. His expression darkened. It wasn't a gift, but a peace offering. It had remained untouched from where it had first been coldly presented to him amidst the sea of his father's prized vehicles—a little hobby that the senior Merridew enjoyed. It had already been a week and there it continued to wait, stagnant and unloved.

"Hmph," Roger folded his arms across his chest, his cold eyes never leaving Jack. "Planning anymore events?" He asked next, nonchalantly. Seemingly stupid questions, but Roger watched his chief's every reaction with the calculating, calm stare. Jack had the best venue for it and it was something that the former hunters had started up about a year ago on the last weekend of each month, inviting nearly half the school. They usually had it at Jack's place, seeing as his parents were frequently gone and he always had a way of smuggling in a copious supply of alcohol.

Jack shrugged unenthusiastically, eyes staring at nothing. He wasn't exactly thrilled with the way the last one had ended.

As if reading his thoughts, Roger smirked. "Or are you still sore about Miss Cleeves?"

"Will you _shut up_ about that already?" Jack promptly fumed, feeling the hatred that he felt for the girl putrefying the lining of his stomach. A moment of quietness fell upon them as Jack sorted his thoughts, allowing his anger to cool slightly before continuing. "I was plastered… I had no idea it was _her_ until morning." _And what a blooming headache that was_… Jack thought bitterly.

Roger chortled quietly, genuinely amused. "So you'll take anything to your bed as long as it isn't her?"

"No," Jack countered, his even voice rivaled his deadpan expression. "I'll take anything that isn't so fucking annoying."

Roger's sounds of amusement began to fade and his unsmiling face took precedence. "Well you should think of something soon. Your events are always so… entertaining_." _

_Meaning, that something out of the ordinary always takes place_, Jack thought. A sardonic frown gilded the sharp contours of the redhead's face. The more he thought about it, the more he began to think that it wasn't such a bad idea. Something to break the monotony of the days. Something to distract him from the _thing_ held currently his thoughts captive and now wrung his insides.

That's what he needed… a distraction. A glittering fragmented distraction… even if somewhat brief. Jack sighed, irritably rubbing the back of his neck.

The stillness that followed was pierced by a loud, terrified shriek accompanied by a chorus of maniacal laughter. Jack and Roger jumped at the audible intrusion, though quickly recovered. They surveyed the area, but couldn't see anything in the thick shadows as a cloud passed over the moon. Jack could only hear his own harsh breathing in their momentarily darkened world.

Out of the blue, the two heard a brief, albeit incoherent argument explode within the air followed by a young voice being muffled. Jack and Roger shuffled towards the noises and when the small cloud passed over, were greeted by the sight of Bill and Maurice struggling with a scrawny boy between the two of them. They each had a hold of his thin, pale arms and were trudging, half dragging their victim along. The boy's tear-streaked face had been silenced with a stained sock barely protruding from his mouth. He was a lot smaller than his captors, causing Jack to conclude that this was his first year here. Probably around eleven years old, though he still looked small, almost too frail to be even that many years.

The boy looked up at Jack and Roger; fresh invocation of fear illuminated his eyes when he realized that they made no movement to liberate him. He could only guess that they were also part of the bullies that had jumped him on his way back from the toilet to his room. Jack's own stare widened slightly when the image of the boy's face immediately invoked the memory of another boy years ago, deep within the wild tresses of the island. The boy's finely textured black hair was severely mused. His clear, pale skin shone with the sweat of struggle and his unsettling pale, bright eyes looked up at him. For a moment, Jack swore that the boy's gaze morphed from an expression of utter fear to that of haunting accusation.

Jack's lips parted, his jaw slackened slightly as his throat felt constricted with a sudden wad of gruesome sickness. Thought was momentarily lost and he felt something burning within his gut. It wasn't rage, exactly, but it felt awfully close to it.

"Stop!" Jack was shocked by the volume of his voice even more than the fact that he had said anything at all. Maurice and Bill looked dumbly at him, completely taken off guard.

"Who is that?" Jack seethed through his teeth. His fists clenched and unclenched, his whole body was now molten with how sick he suddenly felt, fervently wishing that he had something to drain the strange new emotion that now seeped dangerously through his body.

No one answered. Maurice and Bill's faces became white as sun-bleached bone.

"Who is he?" Jack suddenly turned on Roger, instantly grabbing fistfuls of his collared shirt, resisting the overwhelming urge to shake him. Roger's dark hands immediately went up to where Jack's held him, tightening over the redhead's fingers.

"I don't see what the—"Roger said, his voice and expression reflecting only composed inquisitiveness. It was an irritating contrast to the other's flaring reaction and Jack felt the frustration rise within him upon this answer.

"You tell me who that is. Tell me _now_!" Jack ordered him, a mild comeback of the old authority that he had once basked in. The thought hadn't even occurred to him to ask the boy directly.

"It's just Eckland… Peter Eckland." Roger spoke between short breaths, now starting to feel the uncomfortable tension at which Jack held him. _Even the name_... Jack felt a rush of blood upon hearing it. Roger chuckled suddenly, seeing the realization dawn upon his chief's face. "Who knew he had a little brother?" Roger continued with his speech, speaking as if they had just received an unexpected gift. "Just our luck."

Jack ignored him, glancing over at the pale face of Peter as he continued to stare at them. The tears on his face had dried, though his disconcerting silvery eyes continued to observe them with swelling apprehension. He was the spitting image of Simon. Even more so now that Peter was around the same age that his older brother had died. Jack couldn't help the noise of aversion that escaped his lungs as he chucked Roger to the ground. His shirt remained wrinkled where it had been fisted. Roger gaped at Jack, bloodcurdling resentment coursed through his veins at being pushed aside, though it was quickly stifled deep within. Pale cheeks flushed brightly. He was back on his feet by the time Jack drew closer to the others, ignoring the smudges of dirt over his trousers and shirt.

"Release him," Jack said. His voice had steadied somewhat after turning from Roger. Maurice and Bill didn't hesitate. Their grip on Peter had already been waning while watching the others' explosive exchange. They backed away from Peter as if he were about to mutate into something hideous. Peter immediately tore the sock from his mouth and pitched it somewhere amidst the shadows. He coughed, fighting the urge to vomit all over the lawn after having the taste of the filthy sock in his mouth for so long. He wanted to spit, but his mouth was parched. He brought his hesitant gaze back up to the redhead.

Jack almost felt like he was going to retch himself when he saw the look that Peter gave him_. _

_He didn't want this. He hadn't really meant to spare him from his tormentors… He just couldn't…_ Jack turned from his thoughts, feeling progressively more ridiculous as he continued to just stand there. He looked at the boy, growing pale with loathing towards the look of gratitude that had crossed the boy's face.

"_Don't_," Jack spat under his breath. He gave the boy the hardest look that he could manage. It worked, giving him the desired effect. The boy's face looked a bit more uneasy in that moment than thankful. "I am _not_ doing that again." The boy paused before giving him the slightest of nods while staring at the ground. He got the gist. Don't get caught_._

"What are you still doing here? Go!" Jack voiced sharply, waving his hand somewhat, as if in irritated dismissal. The boy's eyes grew before he scampered off. His legs gained speed as he drew closer to the dormitories.

Jack was annoyed to find that the remaining choristers were staring at him as if he had grown a second head. Only Roger seemed exempt from the strange fascination. Instead, Roger still wore the cold vehemence over his face, eyeing Jack with a newfound disapproval.

"What the hell was that?" The dark boy said quietly, his voice low.

Jack turned on him. "How can you even stand to look at him?"

A tight frown formed over Roger's thin mouth. Bill and Maurice observed the ground; a touch of understanding moved their minds as they briefly regarded their chief.

"Find another victim," Jack said, massaging his temple. He was beginning to feel the slowness of fatigue catching up with him. Sleep never came easy, but whenever it did call, it was impossible to ignore.

The two hunters aside from Roger nodded their heads fervently. Roger glared at them, stopping their movement.

"Will do," Roger said. His lips twitched.

"I'm going to bed," Jack mumbled as he left their group. The others continued to stare at him, a mixture of confusion and wonder. Roger's hunter's gaze only noticed Jack's growing fatigue and how it slowed his movements. He was momentarily weak and it made Roger's hands contract within his pockets. His pulse rose slightly, but quickly turned his gaze from his chief, removing him from his treacherous sight.

"Well, what _now_?" Maurice broke the silence. He was unfulfilled… unsatisfied at the turn of events. His fingers continued to yearn for defenseless flesh to torment as much as Bill and Roger in that moment. The frustration over the fact that their fun had ended so quickly left a sour taste in their mouths. Roger turned to them, an intensity now lit within his eyes that caused fresh goosebumps to ripple up Bill's and Maurice's arms. He was going to stick with the chief's orders alright…

"Forget Eckland. We have bigger fish to catch."

...

P.E. was one of Ralph's favorite classes, even if he did share it with Jack and Roger. Of all the former hunters, he just _had_ to be stuck with the both of them in one of his classes. He did his best to ignore them and so far they seemed to be doing the same to him.

It was all that he wanted, really. To be left in peace.

Aside from free time, it was the highlight of his school day. To him, nothing beat having a good sweat and feeling the satisfying vibration of his pumping blood by running the fields or being involved with whatever sport they were assigned. Unlike the majority of the class, he actually applied himself, causing Coach Foster to take more notice of him. It hadn't been Ralph's goal to suck up to any of the teachers, P.E. was simply his thing. It always had been, even before the island. It was a reminder of his life before. And it was a great help in keeping his cluttered mind stable and occupied.

Ralph was somewhat thrilled when he heard that their new unit was going to be on swimming and diving, a refreshing change from breaking a sweat on the outdoor fields where the sun poured its passion over the back of their necks. It was his preferred form of physical activity and the one that he excelled at the most. He had been told that he had an athlete's build, which may have contributed more or less to his swimming capabilities. It worked with nearly all the muscles without being harsh on the joints.

At the moment, Ralph sat in the boys' locker room, unlacing his trainers, currently the only tranquil human being within the zoo-like vicinity. The area was bustling with loud activity. There were naked and half naked boys running all over, trying to find their lockers and quickly changing into their school swim trunks and grabbing their goggles.

The blond ignored the other boys as they played juvenile pranks on each other, stealing each other's locker possessions and instigating a chase as they simultaneously attempted to dress themselves. Ralph opened his locker after the second try when a younger boy had collided right into him before he finished the combination, forcing him to start over. He grunted agitatedly as he began to strip, stuffing his school uniform haphazardly into the small locker. Blind habit forced his fingers to lightly trace the surreal smoothness of his diagonal scar.

After briefly looking about and observing that everyone appeared to be preoccupied with their own locker or activity, he hurriedly pulled down his shorts and just as quickly replaced them with his trunks, feeling a little bit of heat touch his cheeks. He had always been so painfully modest. Even on the island, when most of the boys preferred running about stark-naked, he still managed to retain the necessities of his clothes, no matter how ragged they got. It was the civil thing to do.

He shut his locker, twisting the combination to ensure that it was sufficiently sealed before following the crowd through the door out into the indoor swimming pool area. His eyes searched and found Jack. Roger was nearby as well. It was routine for every single class. Ralph wandered further away from them down the crowd. He was nearly at the opposite end when Coach Foster emerged with his clipboard. He surveyed his students, making sure that everyone was properly suited. Most of their goggles were hanging about their necks, while some were tight over their foreheads. He took brief attendance before starting the lesson. Coach wore his usual attire of a simple windbreaker and sweats with the school logo on it.

Foster started and broke from his mini lecture on how their school ranked above average amongst the other schools when it came to their swimming and diving team. Most of the boys' eyes wandered, obviously bored while he talked. Abruptly, he asked for a raise of hands of those that either were on the team or had been on any sort of swimming and diving team in the past. Ralph timidly raised his hand, flashes of the school that he had gone to before the island skipped through his mind. There was only one other unfamiliar boy that had raised his hand amongst the entire group. Coach Foster immediately smiled in Ralph's direction, much to the blond's chagrin. "Medevane," he summoned with a quick gesture of his hand.

Ralph stepped forward, his cheeks enflamed, trying to ignore the faint snickers of the boys behind him.

"Why don't you show us a little demonstration. How about a simple breaststroke?" he said. It wasn't a request, though he attempted to make it sound like one. Ralph turned away from the coach and students to hide his dark face as he made his way towards the pool.

_God, was he trying to humiliate him?_ Ralph pondered with fevered awkwardness as he faced the pool, his toes touching the tiled edge. Teachers had the annoying tendency to volunteer up their students, oblivious to the fact that they were inflicting social trauma on them. That… or they _were_ aware and just secretly enjoyed the torment, watching them squirm. He felt every pair of eyes on him as he adjusted the annoying eyewear over his face, briefly tightening the sides before taking a diver's stance.

It had been years since he had done this, but it was like riding a bike, once you learn, it was something that could never be forgotten. Ralph's mind emptied, effectively blocking everyone and everything out as he allowed previous experience to guide his body. As soon as he dove, slipping beneath the water, breaking its tension, he was off. All he knew was the rhythm of his body as he fought to slice through the water, against the surge of the ripples as it tussled against him. All he felt was his body pumping excitedly, so full of adrenaline, an almost immediate high.

It felt so good.

When he saw that he was close to the other end of the pool, he did a mild flip turn. Without thought, he pushed now in the opposite direction when his feet came into light contact with the wall, twisting, so that he continued to face the bottom of the pool. He continued when the water began to slow his momentum. When his fingers brushed against the wall that he had started against, he allowed his body to relax, slowly aligning itself parallel to the pool's edge. Ralph removed the eyewear, briefly wiping his eyes.

"Thank you, Medevane." Coach Foster beamed. The students were less enthused and grumbled. Roger picked at his nails, looking as bored as ever. Jack stared. Ralph only caught a fleeting glimpse of them from the pool, but could feel the intense heat of Jack's scrutiny. The warmth tainted his skin and he avoided meeting anyone else's gaze as he started to pull himself from the water; reluctance to leave the pool slowing his limbs. His arms flexed as he heaved his body, now heavy with the sheen of water.

Coach Foster proceeded to lead the other students, setting them up along the side of the pool to learn various strokes. They were barely touching the basics. Foster instructed Ralph and the other swimmer to wait by the side of the pool while the others continued on with the lesson. Before long, Ralph was exceedingly bored as he sat, barely watching the others. He pulled his knees up against his chest, hiding the scar.

While they practiced, the coach approached him. "Medevane, have you ever given thought to trying out for the swim team here?"

Ralph looked up at him. The idea was appealing, but it honestly hadn't crossed his mind. Normal things like that never did anymore, at least not without prompt. Swimming again, even though it was brief, brought back a little more normalcy. It held seductive promise for possibly even solidifying his sanity. It might be really good for him… Ralph thought; the small bit of prospective hope flickered briefly within his chest. "I'm really not sure, sir. Maybe…" He replied with simple sincerity.

Coach Foster smiled a little. "I think that would be a splendid idea. Boys swimming starts up in about a month, so keep an eye out for the postings." Ralph nodded, rather absentmindedly.

With only fifteen minutes left of class, they were given permission to free swim. Ralph allowed his feet to dangle in the water as he watched the students charge through the pool, some splashed at their friends. Ralph removed the eyewear from his head, setting them on the tiled floor as he slowly lowered himself into the deep end of the pool where few dared to ventured. He kicked off lightly from the wall, lounging back into the water, allowing his head to rest back as he floated peacefully.

Just as quickly as the tranquility was wrought, however, it was destroyed. A strong, quick arm encircled his waist, pulling him under. He gasped, though it was too late, his head had already been submerged and instead of air, he swallowed a copious mouthful of chlorine water. He squeezed his lids shut as the water stung his eyeballs. Blackness swallowed up his world.

He struggled as violently as the syrupy movement of water would allow. His attacker continued to crush his chest, forcing whatever precious air he had left within his lungs out. Ralph was on panicked overdrive as he took in another unbidden gulp of the chemical-laden water. Another arm wrapped tightly about his pale throat. Ralph's flustered adrenaline forced him to yank his head forward as he clawed at the arms around him, grating the other's flesh. His head made sharp contact with the wall, the side of the pool. Intense pain flooded his senses as his lungs began to burn.

A sudden dizziness seized his brain and strength quickly left his body. He grew limp and just as quickly, felt another pair of hands. The arms around his throat and chest were removed, pried away. A strong arm surrounded him, pulling. Ralph's mind buzzed and emptied as he felt his helper struggle against the heavy water, pushing him until their faces finally broke the surface. If it were a moment later, he would have blacked out. Ralph painfully gasped, his breath sounding rough and unnatural as he greedily drank in the oxygen. His helper forced the blond's arms over his shoulders. Ralph automatically gripped him close, his chest plastered to the other's back and broad shoulders. His cheek brushed against the boy's hair as he opened his eyes. A handful of boys were leaning over the ledge. They watched with frightened eyes, while others stood nearby. The coach was quickly making his way over, trying not to slip on the saturated, tiled floor.

His rescuer struggled with the weight of Ralph on his back as he neared the edge of the pool. It felt as if he were going at a snail's pace. When Ralph's eyes peered at the back of his rescuer's head, he was shocked at seeing the familiar visage of red.

_Jack_.

Under any other circumstance, he would have pushed him away.

When they finally reached the edge, the coach as well as a few other hands reached over to pull himfrom the water. Ralph's lungs still hurt. Every breath felt like he was swallowing fire. His eyes sought the trash can near the door to the locker room; blood drained his face as he felt bile starting to come up his esophagus. One of the boys noticed this and scurried away to retrieve it. The blond felt so weak, so spent that he could barely move his muscles in that strange suffocating moment. When the boy brought the trash can, he griped the edges as he leaned forward into it, vomiting the contents that he had just swallowed as well as his scant breakfast that morning. He retched until nothing came out, his body shivered unpleasantly as he forced the spasms of his retching to cease, compelling his body to calm down.

"Irvine! To the office! And I expect to see you in detention tomorrow!" The coach barked. His booming voice echoed. Ralph looked up and caught Roger's offhand glare before retreated into the locker room; his forearms bore several angry, red scratches. The dark boy's triumphant lips curved briefly when their eyes connected.

Ralph felt the onslaught of radiating warmth as someone stooped next to him. A hot hand touched the clammy skin of his bare shoulder. "You ok?" He heard Jack's low mumble. Ralph looked at him, confused. He actually sounded… concerned. Despite the fact that his body screamed that he wasn't, he gave the smallest of nods. Just then, something warm trickled down his brow. Thinking it was water, he wiped at it exasperatingly and winced as fresh pain jolted his senses. His head suddenly felt tender and everything swayed dangerously, knuckles turned white on the edge of the trash can. The back of his hand was now smeared red and the familiar metallic scent of fresh blood assailed his nostrils.

"Uh, coach?" Jack said. "He needs to go to the nurse."

"I do not," Ralph hissed at him. It would only make him feel worse if he were to be coddled like a baby.

"You're bleeding," Jack pointed out straight-faced.

Ralph gingerly touched the spot, grimacing as he did. Coach Foster approached them. "Merridew, would you please take Medevane to the nurse?" He inquired, observing the wound, getting messier by the minute.

"Yes, sir," Jack replied as he offered his hand to Ralph. He pushed it away.

"I don't need your help," Ralph heatedly stated as he stood up, instantly regretting it the moment the warmth rushed quickly from his throbbing head, forcing another rivulet of blood to tickle the skin of his forehead. He would have toppled over had Jack not quickly steadied him, forcing him to lean against his sturdy body. He began to help him over towards the locker room. Pink tinged the blond's face upon feeling how close their bodies were and how their moist skin stuck together, especially in nothing but sopping wet swim trunks.

Jack led him to the showers to rinse off the chlorine. He quickly turned on one of the showerheads with a free hand. The other was still wrapped around the smaller boy. The outreached palm tested the water until it was warm.

Ralph briskly freed himself from Jack's grasp as he meandered towards the stream of water. Jack helped wipe away the blood while carefully avoiding the broken skin of his forehead. When Ralph was finished, he stepped aside and waited while Jack rinsed himself off, quickly casting his flustered gaze to the cream-colored tiles. After the water was turned off, Jack immediately held Ralph against him again as they made their way to the lockers, which Ralph didn't think was absolutely necessary, but didn't complain. Jack led him to his locker and proceeded to watch as the blond worked on his combination. Ralph felt the prickle of the unnerving stare crawl over his skin as his locker finally clicked open. After pulling out his towel and drying himself, he peered over at Jack, unnerved to see that he was still there. Pale eyes gleamed, silently watching his every move.

"Don't you have to get dressed too?" Ralph asked, annoyance creeping into his tone.

Jack shrugged, the corner of his lip lifted upwards in a half grin. "It's not important. If I leave, I'll come back to a bloody, crumpled mess on the floor. You're pathetic without me." His voice was light and cocky.

Ralph rolled his eyes before halfheartedly pushing him away. "Get dressed."

Jack left, though his smug expression remained as he turned the corner.

Taking instant advantage of his solitude, Ralph slid the sopping wet trunks down his hips. He dressed as quickly as he could, having some difficulty with getting the dry clothes on without sticking too much to humid flesh. The feeling brought on unwelcome flickering images of dirty shorts and relentless, wet skin. Ralph's breath hitched; his fingers tightened over his clothes, pulling them on with renewed vigor.

When finished, he walked carefully towards the main hallway of the locker room where Jack had gone, his hand gripping the sides of the lockers as small spells of dizziness came over him with each step.

Sucks to head injuries.

Just as he rounded the corner, he nearly bumped into Jack. "You didn't have to come find me, I was going to get you," Jack grumbled vexingly as he wound one of Ralph's arms over him. One hand took his as it lay over boney shoulders while the other gripped the blond's hip on the other side, pulling him close. Ralph could blushingly feel the contours of Jack's hip against his and the friction of the side of his thigh with every step they took towards the nurse's office.

_Why am I even paying attention to that?_ Ralph silently reproached himself. _This really is stupid_.

When they reached the nurse, the elderly woman behind the desk was instantly flustered at seeing Ralph with more blood pouring from his head since coming from the locker-room.

"Oh my! What happened to you?" She motioned Jack to bring him to one of the cots as she retrieved her supplies.

"Hit his head in P.E., the clumsy git," was Jack's quick reply, mock humor poorly hidden. Ralph glowered at him beneath the nurse's attempt to clean his wound before dressing it. When she was done, she handed him an aspirin, saying that head injuries always hurt and bled more than they were worth. He muttered his thanks as he swallowed it with a small sip of water. The dismissal bell rang.

"Stay here. Skip your next class if you need to," Jack muttered. His voice rigid as he made his move to leave. Ralph's heart pounded, sudden and loud, as he quickly reached for and grabbed Jack's forearm, stopping him before he left the cot. Jack shot him a look, confusion marring his severe face. Ralph's eyes averted from his briefly, feeling both a little stupid and bewildered for his unexpected reaction.

"Uh…um… th—thank you," Ralph said, somewhat lamely. Jack's gaze softened in the slightest before slowly removing his extremity from Ralph's now loose grip. Jack glanced quickly at the nurse behind her desk scribbling down notes, completely absorbed in her work. He looked back at Ralph and allowed the back of his fingers to gently graze down the side of his face. Ralph felt chills crawl up his spine, though couldn't tell if they were the ominous kind. The feeling overwhelmed him and a dense swallow passed through his throat.

Jack's hand retreated. A light smirk twisted his mouth before leaving. The blond stared blankly as the door closed.

Still feeling dazed, Ralph lowered himself back onto the cot, gingerly arranging his head so that there was no pressure being applied to the bandage. Only moments passed before he drifted into a state of blissful semi-consciousness, free of dreams.

.

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><p><strong>Don't pass through without leaving a review. :) They help me update faster.<strong>


	5. Anatomy of Secrets

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews. They totally make me want to jump back at the computer to start typing up more chapters. :D And they make my day, of course. Oh and to the last reviewer, no worries. I won't abandon my literary babies. Some of the updates might take a week at the most, though some might come really quick. Depends on my schedule. :)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing with Golding's oh-so-delicious characters.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5 — Anatomy of Secrets<strong>

"_Three can keep a secret if two are dead."_

_-Benjamin Franklin_

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

"It's not nice to touch other peoples' things," Jack's voice slithered past as Roger finally emerged from the administrator's office. The ginger was leaning elegantly against the wall opposite the door, arms folded casually. His eyes of ice smoldering beneath superficially calm lids. Roger flecked his gaze over at Jack as he tossed back his black fringe, dark eyes masked beneath his usual face of detachment.

"You touched mine. It's only fair, Chief." Roger's voice was low, though came terrifyingly close to a sneer. His body faced him as he folded his arms, unmoving, yet not backing up.

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched unpleasantly as his gaze grew more alert upon Roger. "You can't have Eckland either."

Hardness crept into the dark boy's eyes. It was then that Jack realized that Roger must have already somehow marked Eckland as his, his new prey. How he did that, he didn't know nor did he necessarily _want_ to know. Anything Roger did was his own business and Jack usually respected that—to an extent.

"Getting greedy now, are we? You want them all for yourself?" A lace of bitterness touched Roger's speech.

"Eckland's off limits for all of us," Jack snapped back, quickly losing patience.

"Why? Because we killed his brother?" Roger retorted. He said it so easily, so effortlessly, as if dully reiterating what they had for supper the other day. All with a face as vacant as a marionette. Jack's fists clenched against his chest beneath folded arms. His breathing became tattered for a split second. A trivial feeling of satisfaction warmed Roger's insides at the sight of Jack reacting to his blunt words, even if it was minimal at best.

Jack was silent for several seconds as he searched his brain. Roger was clearly intent upon having the Eckland kid and for reasons that he couldn't fathom, Jack just _knew_ that he couldn't let him have his way with the boy. Perhaps it was guilt, as Roger insinuated. The redhead felt the heat of irritation at the thought of doing anything out of guilt. He wasn't remorseful… and yet, he still couldn't just let it go.

"He wasn't _there_," Jack said. "He doesn't understand."

"I've gone after plenty of others that weren't there and you never cared," Roger countered quietly, his dark eyes calm once again.

"Don't argue with me. Just stay away from him."

Roger snorted softly before turning to leave. If he didn't want to argue with him, then their conversation was over, the dark boy mentally concluded.

Jack watched him closely before he allowed his voice to ring out from behind him. "Maybe it is because of his brother." Roger froze, though didn't turn around, listening as Jack continued. "He wasn't supposed to die… We never hunted him."

_Maybe it is remorse_, Jack thought with substantial disgust, as if he just discovered that a part of his body was hopelessly diseased. His face remained still and unmoved despite the sudden break of inner turbulence.

Roger turned his head, his impassive eyes studying his chief. Jack met his gaze with an expression of slight formality. Their masks persisted. Nothing was said as they took a leisure turn away from the other, moving in opposite directions down the hallway.

...

"My God, Ralph… you look terrible," Sam remarked upon seeing him sit at their table for breakfast.

Late as usual.

Ralph nearly dropped his tray on the table; his movements were like that of a zombie, his eyes were once again unresponsive. At least his head wound healed up quick. Like the nurse said, it just bled more than it was worth. So, he didn't tell them about the pool incident with Roger. Why make them worry? The twins had many more unpleasant memories about him than Ralph did.

The twins were already half done with the scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast on their trays. Irene was still poking through hers, though cautiously eyed Ralph, waiting for him to either pass out or throw up, either way would give her leave to force him into the nurse's office. It was what she had quickly suggested upon seeing his tired form in the hallways. The dark shadows beneath his eyes were the first thing on his sallow face that she noticed. It frightened her that his appearance had been waning so quickly in just the past few days.

He barely ate, vehemently stating that he was never hungry. Irene only scowled at him—no human being, she had said could not be hungry _all the time_. He refused her help and her suggestion to go to the nurse… although he never refused her company, so she remained close to him whenever they weren't in class. She helped him study, tried to get him to eat during meals, and even got him to venture outside with her during free time. A little sun would be good for him, she had thought, though he didn't seem to like it as much as she assumed he would.

"Thanks," Ralph mumbled dryly to Sam, his cheek lain against the cool table. It felt nice against his hot skin. "—Makes me feel so much better." It was meant to sound sarcastic, but to everyone's ears, it just sounded washed-out and fatigued. Irene violently stabbed at her food, upset at Ralph being half passed out on the table when he was supposed to be eating.

"Ralph, please eat," Irene ordered, trying her authoritative voice on him.

"What—are you my mother now?" Ralph continued with his dull, lifeless voice, never looking up from the table. Irene's utensil clattered loudly onto the table, her eyes heatedly boring holes in to the back of his head before he switched cheeks so that he now looked at her. "_That was low",_ she silently raged. "_Using his deceased mum like that_." Ralph felt strangely satisfied to see her baulking as he remained unmoved from his position.

"Sure. You want me to be?" She asked sweetly, disguising her provoked speech.

Sam and Eric exchanged knowing glances before looking uncomfortably down at their trays, still eating their food, wondering if this was going to turn into another argument between the two of them. After a moment of silence, Sam peered around the cafeteria until he spotted the female congested table across the room, looking for a certain raven-haired someone. Cynthia and Sam had been hanging out lately during their free time, much to Eric's profound irritation.

It meant that the twins were no longer as joined-at-the-hip like they used to be. They usually enjoyed perturbing others by finishing one another's spoken thoughts and spending the majority of their time indulging in the same activities. Lately Eric had been feeling a bit jumbled, like his thoughts had no finish, no witty end. Eric saw Cynthia smile when she caught Sam's stare. He grumbled, moving around his spongy scrambled eggs, looking every bit like a child that had just missed Christmas.

Just then, when Eric randomly looked across the room at the furthest area from them in the cafeteria, he spotted the black infested choristers' table. He felt his stomach tighten, nearly to the point of queasiness. He honestly didn't think that he could ever look at choristers the same way ever again. It was then that he noticed Jack, his red hair messily displayed beneath his chorister's cap, staring at them… _again_. Eric felt himself stiffen and his skin prickled until he realized that Jack was only looking at one of them. Ralph. The half-dead one, collapsed on the table. Eric turned his eyes away, as calmly as he could.

"Hey," Eric spoke in a conversational tone as he tilted his head towards the table. Sam and Irene looked at him, while Ralph only continued to play dead. "_He's_… looking over here, again."

"What? Why?" Sam tried to sound like he could care less, but his face paled. Eric shrugged.

Irene immediately turned her face towards Jack, her eyes a little distanced as she viewed him. This had been a slowly emerging pattern for almost every meal. Irene was getting a little annoyed by the groups' jumpy tendencies whenever they believed that someone from the chorister table gave them so much as a funny look. So far it seemed that Jack was the one that the twins believed was looking over more so than the others.

"Merridew? What's he to you anyway?" She finally asked, her dry, nearly bored tone obviously not giving much repute to their nervousness. She noticed Ralph from the corner of her eye pick himself up from the table and with great effort began to eat some of his eggs. His head leaned wearily against a propped arm on the table.

"Wait—_now_ you're eating?" Irene raised her brows at him, in mock surprise. "Tell me what I did, so I can do it again in the future."

"Like I'd tell you," Ralph smiled a little at that, his half-lidded eyes still on his tray. "And even if I did, who told you that it would ever work again? I think you'll just have to find something new for each time you want me to do something."

Irene dropped her jaw slightly at him. "God, you're so much work. I don't know if you're even worth the effort." She mumbled at him, a teasing glint decorating her stare.

Ralph laughed a little. "Yes, it would be a lot of effort to outdo yourself each and every time."

"We'll see about that," Irene pursed her lips, a look of determination solidifying.

"Hey wait on a second," Eric interrupted their side exchange. "Are you saying that you _know_ him?" He looked at Irene.

"Sure," She said before taking a sip of her orange juice. All three pairs of eyes were suddenly on her as she paused, waiting for her to go into further detail. The pregnant silence wore on and nobody moved. She looked at them strangely as she set her drink down. "I really don't see what the big deal is. Our parents know each other, so I guess we've also just known each other for a while. It's really nothing monumental." Their faces told her otherwise. They looked at her almost as if she'd just come out and said that she'd made a blood pact with the Devil.

"How do your parents know his?" Sam asked, eyes wide as saucers and his face leaning forward, as if listening to an intense ghost story.

Irene, amused by their interest, indulged them. "Our fathers work together. They've been friends since childhood and now they're in a partnership. Mr. Merridew is looking to pass down their half of the business to Jack... that is, if he's up to it. He's an only child… so the sole heir."

"Like you," Ralph interjected quietly, taking another small bite of eggs.

"Mm-hmm," Irene nodded, her face draining of its color, as she played with the edge of her pleated skirt.

Ralph pushed away his tray. His eggs were only half eaten; his bacon and toast remained untouched. Irene looked at him, her old exasperation quickly coming back. "_Ralph_—you have to eat more than that…"

"I'm not hu—"he started.

"And don't say you're not hungry," she interrupted his stupid excuse. "You said that last night, so it's not going to work again." Her expression was enflamed as she stared at him.

"Ok, then," Ralph crossed his arms, challenging her. "The food isn't good."

_Damn_. Irene couldn't argue with that. School food was school food, after all. She grumbled. "Ok, Mr. Medevane. You got me there. But since you won't finish, you'll have to meet me after classes in front of the dormitories, deal?"

"What for?" Ralph wasn't being argumentative, considering that he's usually willing to tag along with her anyway during their free time, but was simply curious.

"Because I have something that I'd like to share with you," Irene said, a slightly conspiratorial tone to her statement, though her small grin at the end told him that she was just teasing. Ralph felt his skin warm. A common response whenever she smiled like that.

He looked away, feeling a little abashed by his small reaction. Normally things like this didn't happened, or at least that's what he reminded himself. He'd been told that this was typical—that it was normal to feel a strange from the small things that never used to bother him. Ralph had certainly been feeling the physical stirrings deep within his gut whenever he accidentally found himself staring at a girl's developing chest as he passed her down the hall or at a girl's bare knees or sometimes even lower thighs as she sat herself at a desk or edged down the pew during chapel. It always ended with his face burning, as if he'd had a touch of too much sun.

"Deal," Ralph said, his cheeks beginning to get a tinge pink.

...

Classes drew on a lot longer than Ralph had anticipated. He was grateful for Irene's help in organizing his notes, lessons, and studying, or else he was sure that his marks would already be slipping. Most of his inattentiveness came from his lack of sleep, not lack of intelligence. His willingness to visit those nightly visions as well as his internal strength for facing them was fast fading. He was afraid of becoming a shell of a person if he continued at this rate. Irene (and Sam and Eric occasionally) continued to nudge him, keeping him on track with reality, was the only thing that helped him move forward, to believe that each rising sun would promise him a fresh start.

Irene shared his theology class. Sometimes she came into his room with loads of books in order to study in an attempt to keep him on his toes. At one point, as she read verses to him, one in particular stuck out to him. Lamentations—the one verse in particular that talked of the coming of the morning. That His mercies begin afresh with each rising sun. Ralph smiled a little at the time, rather partial towards the image that it painted.

As his day wore on, Ralph found that his thoughts were constantly being pulled back to Jack—and the night that he left him standing there by the chapel. His body still cringed at the memory of how he held him down, disallowed any freedom and yet there was the whole weird incident at the pool. Ralph would even dare to venture to say that he might have been telling him the truth—that he might actually care about _some_ things, like any other human being. Perhaps even for him in some small way. And he guessed that it was in a way that boys weren't supposed to care for other boys. "_Perhaps Jack really was_—" Ralph didn't finish his thought. He didn't even want to think it. The prick of shame was too great.

And yet Ralph did take notice of Jack around campus, perceiving the way that he never seemed to enjoy the company of girls. He never kept anyone's friendly company, really, except some of the other choristers. All this Ralph perceived simply by casual observation as he passed from one class to another and during meals. Beyond that, however, this new, few-years-older-Jack remained an enigma.

These thoughts flitted about his mind as he now waited outside the boys' dormitory. His back leaned haphazardly against the building, a little ways from the main doors. After the sky began to display its shades of sunset, Ralph began to wonder where Irene had gone off to. She said to wait here after classes, yet they ended nearly forty minutes ago, he perceived after checking his wristwatch.

Just then, Ralph felt someone watching him. The hairs of his neck rose in anticipation as he slowly brought his eyes from the face of his watch to the boy approaching the front of the dormitory. The flaming red hair caused his heart to skip a beat as he felt his icy eyes on his face. Jack was in his normal school clothes. He walked as casually as he could; trying to keep his eyes on the path as he approached the door when he saw that Ralph had caught him looking.

Jack's right hand tightened slightly as he felt his self-control slip. The redhead risked another glance at Ralph, allowing his eyes to settle on his face before he began to ravenously examine the rest of him. A scorching once-over. All in a matter of a couple seconds. A simple up and down sweep of his eyes before he quickly opened the door and disappeared within the building.

Ralph saw it all. He caught the way that Jack eyed him and felt hot shivers run involuntarily through his body beneath his stare. Ralph's cheeks burned with the sudden realization. He _didn't_ just feel that, did he? It was nearly the same reaction he got when he caught himself staring at a girl. His hands briefly pressed against his face, fervently willing the skin to cool down.

Moments later, Irene arrived. Her cheeks were slightly red and she was a little breathless, like she had run across campus just to meet him. Strands of her brown hair had escaped her braid, giving her a slightly wild look. She was holding a box. "Oh gosh, Ralph," she spoke between breaths. "I am so sorry that I made you wait for so long. I was detained."

"Where were you?" Ralph asked, silently offering to carry the box, which Irene obliged to. Ralph held onto her package under his arm as he followed her. She set off immediately towards the large cluster of trees in the distance. It was a bit of a walk from the school.

"A chorister wanted to talk to me," Irene said, slowing down her pace slightly so that she was side by side with Ralph, though still a little ahead to guide them. Ralph felt himself stiffen. He had never seen her with a chorister before—at least not during their free time. After a long pause of silence, Irene spoke up again. "He wanted… to talk about you actually." She turned to look at him, gauging his reaction.

Ralph looked back at her, surprise immersed his expression. "Who?"

"I've never met him before, but he said that his name was Robert…um, Robert Humphrey." Ralph remembered a Robert from the island; though it might be a longshot that it was the same Robert. He didn't know his full name and Robert was a common name. Still… it was possible, seeing as a small handful of the others were here. The Robert he knew was a chorister as well… though he didn't remember seeing him amongst the other choristers on his first day here. Ralph pondered this quickly, his brows knitted together.

Irene grasped his arm, gently awakening him from the temporary stupor of thought when they reached the line of trees. The school was far behind them—for a walk's length, that is.

"Over here, Ralph," she spoke quietly. She immersed herself carefully within the thickest part of the trees, trying to avoid getting needlessly scratched and prodded by persistent branches. Ralph managed well enough. His arm held the box even tighter as he pulled it along with him. They took a few more twists and turns amidst the brush before they came to a tiny clearing. It was almost perfectly circular and it displayed a flawless gap in the tree line above, a glimpse of the cloudless sky. Even the ground was smooth, free of rocks and old roots, though the long grass was wild and tickled their ankles and in Irene's case, her legs.

"Alright," Irene smiled up at Ralph as she took the box from him. She laid it down, indenting the grass as she removed a medium sized blanket from the top. She moved the box over gently with the heel of her shoe before draping the blanket over the grass. She plopped down onto one side of it, sitting on top of her legs as she brought the box closer to her. For a moment, she looked up at Ralph, her innocent eyes smiling, sparkling. "Well—come on."

Ralph sat down next to her. As she continued to open her box, Ralph noticed the silence, the absolute serene quality of Irene's secluded area. He enjoyed it, almost feeling like they weren't even at school. He brought his knees close to his chest.

"Now, you are lucky…" Irene spoke, her soft voice filling the air as she glanced up at him from her box. She paused, looking at him for a few, lost seconds before abruptly continuing. Obvious distraction clouded her thoughts, though Ralph remained in the dark as she fumbled. "You're lucky… because you're the first person that I've ever shown this place to. It's my little secret, so you must promise me not to share it with anyone else."

"Well, it's a secret no more. It can't technically be called that when you start showing others," Ralph said, feeling the need to tease.

Irene sighed, a little riled. "Fine, Mr. Technicalities. Then it will be _our_ secret. No one else can know." A small, mischievous smile formed over her lips as she added, "Actually I probably should have made you swore that you wouldn't tell anyone about this place _before_ I brought you here, hmm?"

Ralph nodded. "That is usually how those things go... But I do distinctly remember saying that you had to find interesting ways to get me to do what you want."

"Alright, then... I have a proposition," Irene announced. She waited for a moment before adding in a more serious, quiet tone. "I think that this should be a place that is especially secret, meaning… whatever is spoken here, whatever we might reveal, must also remain a secret." Her dark eyes looked up at Ralph's, completely honest and wide, her face bearing no sign of deception. She suddenly smiled and was once again playful as she added, "Unless, of course, given exclusive permission by the other person."

Ralph digested her words and felt… surprisingly refreshed, to have someone with him that didn't share the same knowledge that he carried from the island, the same horrendous truth. Looking into her naïve brown eyes, he knew that she held no memories of death, none of the shadows of human hearts, or of proverbial painted masks. And he wanted her to remain that way, wanted to protect her innocence from ever being as tarnished or as hideously warped as his.

"I like your proposition," Ralph leaned towards her a little and spoke as honestly and seriously as he could. A small corner of his mouth curved for an instant before disappearing.

Irene froze, her eyes widened slightly as she felt her cheeks warm over. This was the closest that he had ever physically been to her. She didn't know what to make of the small change within her shortened breath or of her pleasantly warmed skin. So, instead of pondering upon it for too long, she blindly reached for the box, her hand at first missed it completely, only grasping at air, causing her blush to deepen. She broke her gaze completely as she successfully grabbed the box, clearing her throat.

"So, since you haven't been eating very well for a while, I thought you might like some things that my mother sent me in a care package." She opened the box as well as a few coverings before setting it upon his lap. Ralph peered in. The first things he saw were the parceled sweets amongst other baked items, but it was really the chocolate that caught his attention… It was his favorite food, even if most didn't really belong in any of the five basic food groups. He didn't care and his mother never did either. So he counted it as his.

Ralph wasn't sure of what to say at first. As strange as it may have seemed, these actually brought him memories of his mum, back when she used to bake. Since then, knowing only boarding schools, he hadn't had the pleasure of any home-made things since. His father was always gone (not that he could have baked anyways, being terrible at anything culinary) and he had very few extended relatives. And even amongst those, there were no home-makers. They were just more individuals hell-bent on their career and leaving their kids in boarding schools.

"A-are you sure this is alright? I mean, they are yours…" Ralph stammered slightly, feeling rather touched despite himself. Irene smiled shyly.

"Do you honestly think that those are _all_ for me?" She laughed. "My mum specifically wrote in her letter to give you some as well, seeing as your practically part of the family." Irene paused, her voice softened, "I guess she sort of saw your mum as being like her sister. She doesn't have any sisters."

"Thank you," Ralph's voice was barely audible, his eyes cast downward.

"Don't thank me…" Irene blushed again. "I'm just the messenger girl."

"I still want to thank you," Ralph insisted, though his voice wasn't forceful, just sincere. "For being kind… I mean, I'm just some random person that happened upon your doorstep. Well, not really random, but you get the idea… You didn't have to show me around the school or deal with me or… make sure that I get enough to eat." He said the last part with a small laugh before turning serious again. "You're a good person."

"So are you," Irene said quietly as she scooted a little closer to him, noticing that the sun had almost completely gone and the air was a bit cooler. Ralph shifted in his seat and folded his arms about his chest, also feeling the slight chill in the air, though for him, he just felt barren. He sighed, something darkened his expression.

"No… I'm not," Ralph spoke faintly. Thick silence draped over their little serene alcove. Irene could only watch him, her mind trying to understand, though didn't want to interrupt. Ralph took a breath and continued.

"I honestly don't deserve any of this. I… used to think of myself as the good guy. But…" Ralph closed his eyes briefly, an image of Simon with his gentle eyes, even faultless as he died at the hands of so many. His face continued to haunt him, probably more so than the other faces that inhabited his dreams. Ralph looked down at his hands—a murderer's hands, he thought.

Irene saw the transformation in his face, saw the way that he looked at himself and hated it. Whatever it was that was lingering in his mind, she absolutely despised it. Without thinking, she took one of his cold hands between hers and held it close to her body, as if he were in desperate need of warmth. She felt Ralph flinch and tried to half-heartedly pull away from her.

"Ralph."

Dark, reluctant eyes connected with hers. The shadows were growing and the sun had completely disappeared within the horizon, even so he could still see her fairly well.

"I don't… know everything about you," Irene paused as she lowered her gaze, feeling a little stupid for stating the obvious, but refused to stop, her face continuing to burn as she talked, "I know that there's so much that you keep to yourself. I see the way you are whenever you're around us… or maybe just around people in general. But I can tell that you're alone… even when you're with people. Sometimes…"

_I'm rambling…_ she thought frantically.

She felt Ralph's free hand touch her cheek. She tried her best to ignore it, her eyes strained away from him, feeling almost feverish as she continued, "…sometimes, you look like you're in so much pain and I feel so useless. You know how I get—"the voice behind her long-winded words began to shake lightly when she felt Ralph apply more pressure to her cheek, bringing her closer. She felt her face flush with even more heat, though it was difficult to see in the growing dimness. Her nervous speech refused to stop, even as it began to stumble. "—w-when I want to help. That's why I wanted to show you my secret. I—I…"

She was cut off when she felt the warmth of his closeness, felt his breath upon her face, and felt his mouth gently touch hers. It was a simple, electrifying sweep of his lips against hers. He retreated. She quivered beneath him as he brought his mouth upon her again, a little firmer and moved. A small noise of surprise came from the back of her throat, though at the same time, she couldn't help melting into his sudden kiss, feeling completely powerless against the confusing yearn behind her mouth or the feather light traces of fluttering desire within her stomach.

It was only a moment of stillness from her end until she began to timidly move her mouth against his. She felt inept and inexperienced with this being her very first kiss, but then she supposed that his mouth was just as untested as hers. They both pulled away until their noses touched, their breath heavy, their mouths tingling with excitement and warmth.

Irene's hands were now trembling as they still held one of Ralph's. He took his hand back without much resistance. Irene continued to stare at him, his eyes boldly looking back as he brought his recently freed hand to the escaping strands of her hair. He gathered them with his mild touch and put them behind her ear.

"I think that—"Ralph's blush continued to paint his face. "—I've wanted to do that for awhile now." He looked down briefly, embarrassed at admitting such a thing, especially considering that his inexperience strengthened the forbidden feel of everything, their glances, their friendly touches, and now their scant kiss. The very idea of indulging in it under the strict rule of their school, especially since he instigated it, felt immoral.

He had expected her to pull away, perhaps even to voice her disapproval. It was a surprise, then, when he felt her draw close to him, her warm hands gently moved to the sides of his face. Her expression was as calm as the gentle breeze that kindled the atmosphere.

She smiled shyly, unable to think of anything to say, so instead, closed the gap. She captured his lips for the first time. Ralph's breath hitched. It was hard to say who was responsible for the kiss suddenly deepening. With each thrilling, reckless stroke of the mouth, Ralph found himself pulling gently and sucking at her bottom lip, his body pulsing for more.

Irene released her breath when she suddenly felt his hands softly slip down to her backside, lifting her in an attempt to bring them even closer. Their chests collided gently. Ralph released an unsteady groan against her lips when he first felt the soft pressure of Irene's mild breasts against him, even though the cloth of their shirts. It felt exactly how he thought they looked—soft yet somehow firm at the same time. Irene on the other hand felt rather strange with this first-time contact that involved a part of her that felt so private. She calmed the urge to protectively distance herself.

By the time they pulled apart for air, Irene was startled to find that she had been pulled onto his lap; his hands grasped the backs of her knees on each side of him.

Irene felt the instant rise of panic and swiftly removed his hands, to which he quickly complied to and allowed herself to fall back onto the blanket, immediately righting her disordered clothing, turning from him. "We should be getting back," apprehension clouded her voice. Ralph looked away, trying in vain to catch his breath.

As he helped her fold the blanket, he found that he felt a little chastised by the look of humiliation that had crossed her features when she pulled away from him, though was a bit surprised to know that he didn't regret it. Any of it. Instead, he found that he craved and wanted more. The onslaught of the sudden cultivation of longing took him aback and slightly frightened him for its dark familiarity.

As they walked back to the campus, Ralph followed her, holding the box and eyed her back. Even in the growing darkness, he could make out her form pretty well. When keeping such a close distance and feeling the intensity of it, Ralph uneasily felt like a predator.

When they arrived at the front of the boy's dormitory. Ralph scanned the area and when he didn't find anyone, he took gentle hold of Irene's shoulder with his free hand before she attempted to make an abrupt departure. She looked back at him, anxiety creeping into her face.

"Ralph," she whispered harshly. "We can't. We could get in so much trouble." Her words only made him hesitate for a short while as he brought himself closer to her, his hand still on her arm.

"No one's around," he said. She glared at him.

"Just a little…?" Ralph's attempt at pleading was marred by his mischievous smile.

"No," Irene's weak refusal left her lips the moment she drew closer to him. Ralph took the chance, capturing her mouth before her resolve became stronger. His hand went from her arm to the back of her head, smoothly pushing her face harder against his. His kiss was deeper. Irene released a soft noise that embarrassed her to no end when she suddenly felt Ralph's warm tongue slide deftly between the indent of her lips. It was so hot and stimulating; she immediately felt the intense shiver from her insides travel to her extremities, causing a sudden and sweet ache between her legs. Confused and a little frightened by her intense reaction, she instantly broke away from him, her face beet red.

"That was _not_ just a little," she reproached him, trying to sound harsh, though her voice became shaky as her fingers touched her mouth, now warm and wet from Ralph's tongue. He watched her fingers, his eyes a shade darker. When he tried to lean towards her again, Irene put her other hand over his mouth, stopping him. Ok, now he was just being greedy. She stifled her smile.

"That's enough for you… or else we're really going to get caught," she said, her voice both serious and amused by his stubborn persistence. She was secretly terrified at how her insides currently trembed for him, how much she _didn't_ want to stop.

Ralph reached up and pressed her hand briefly against his mouth before removing it. "Alright, fine," he said. "Will you still come over tomorrow to help me study?" Irene nodded slowly, her face still dark with the rush of blood.

"Good," Ralph said. He looked down at the box that was still tucked beneath his other arm. "Oh and…" He tried handing the package back over to her. She shook her head before softly pushing it back towards him.

"It's your half… remember?" She smiled, an action that somehow felt immensely more tender than her other smiles; Ralph felt his breath immediately shorten. His previous desire for her touch already began to leak back into his pulse. "Besides," She spoke again, her voice back to normal. "You need it a lot more than I do." Ralph looked down at his clothes, growing looser with each passing day since coming to school. He shrugged, though felt the awkward heat touch his insides.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Irene said and gave Ralph's hand a small squeeze before leaving. He watched her for a moment before retreating into the shadowed halls of the boys' dormitory.

.

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><p><strong>Remember to review. Even if its just to say that you've read it. I would deeply appreciate anything in return. :) Thanks!<strong>


	6. Blood Chocolate

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. I've been so terribly sick this past week. Coughing up a storm tends to hinder my creative thought process. x) I hope this is worth the wait. If not... then I hopefully the next update will be, lol. Dun dun duuun.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, just my playground.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6 — Blood Chocolate<strong>

"_A chocolate in the mouth is worth two on the plate." _(…xD)

_-Unknown_

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

Ralph was roused to the shrill knocking of his door. Groaning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, irritably remembering that it was Saturday morning, a now missed opportunity for extended, uninterrupted sleep. The knock came again, more urgent, causing Ralph to nearly tumble from his bed as he got up. He quickly made his way over before tearing open the door, revealing a boy that he had never seen before. There was another behind him, carrying an obscenely large box, filled to the brim with various packages and letters.

"Ralph Medevane?" The boy in front asked.

"Yes," Ralph answered, hoping that he didn't look as stupid and confused as he had sounded. He still felt like he was only half awake, viewing the world through barely aware lens. The boy was polite, however, and seemed patient enough as he fumbled through a bag that he wore over his shoulder before pulling out a thick envelope.

"This is for you. Came in just today." He said before turning back to his companion with the larger burden and they dutifully continued down the hallway onto the next room. Ralph stared dumbly at the letter in his hand for a moment before realizing that he was still standing halfway out in the hallway. He shut the door while still examining the envelope. The handwriting on it was familiar—neat and formal.

Confusion flooded Ralph's slowly stirring mind as he tore open the letter, wondering why in the hell his dad would have sent him something. Just as rigid fingers touched the crinkled edges of money tucked behind the actual letter did sudden realization hit. Today was his birthday. Even after the island, birthdays still held no real importance to him other than to monotonously remind him of his age.

He pulled the letter out, careful to keep the money securely tucked within the envelope. It was short and concise, filled with promises of writing more soon… and to write more often. Ralph tucked the folded paper upon his nightstand, believing few of the displayed words—not out of malice, but rather of quiet acceptance. He knew that the commander was far too busy to deal with him. The practiced thought hung within the room, over his mind like the thick, suffocating blanket of duty that it had always been. The blond felt cold, his fingers numb as another poisonous thought slithered on the edge of his mind, sullying his insides beneath a mask of stone. And for a fleeting, stomach-clenching instant, he wondered if he had died on the island, if his father would have lived any differently.

Probably not.

He stifled the unwanted impression away, though not swiftly enough to quench the image of his mother—of his last good-bye.

…

_The afternoon was a clammy, rainy one. Perfect weather to hold a funeral, the then eight-year-old Ralph dazedly decided. His fingers curled stiffly over the rigid end of his sleeves as the vicar recited Psalms 23. He hated the stiff, formal clothes that his father forced him to wear. He only relented without a further struggle when he was sharply reprimanded—was told that it was out of respect for his poor mum. _

"_Mum doesn't mind… She hates these sorts of clothes," Ralph wanted to say, before grasping that he was still using the present-tense. Startled into silence upon the realization and feeling fat tears leave his eyes, he kept quiet, staring down at his taut, black shoes. It was true, though, Ralph stubbornly retained. She never liked wearing formal clothes. He remembered her telling him that she had come from a family that forced her to wear such things almost all the time. Expensive, lavish things that she came to hate with every fiber of her being. Prisoner's garb, she called them, until she met his dad. _

_Ralph was always entranced by her stories—unaware at his young age that they weren't exactly stories and represented more of the truth of the cruel world beyond his mother's warm, safe arms. He wondered if that's why his mum's side of the family seemed to hate them so much—their small family of three. His mother's parents were apparently unprepared to have a daughter that wasn't docile and submissive like her sisters. She was as obstinate as a mule and held onto a harsh temper carefully veiled beneath a cool exterior—a startling contrast to her pale, angelic face. _

_She was true to her family, however, when it came to her talents. She was a singer—a lover of the classics. Music ran through their blood as well as deeply as it had within her father's bank account. He was the proud owner of a prestigious record label company. _

_The eight-year-old Ralph screwed his eyes shut against the icy rain as it brought him out of his ruminations. The unfeeling atmosphere seeped deep, creeping into his shivering bones. The vicar's voice, aged and feeble, forced the mental image of his mum's soft, smiling face to blur, to meld into the unkind, gray atmosphere of where her body was being laid. The gaping, black hole in the ground startled him, lurched his heart into a sickening throb. The sopping ground was too cold, too unforgiving to swallow her body. For a moment, he wanted to feel her warmth one last time—to swallow up his aching, freezing heart._

_His tears slid fast and hot now, were staining pale cheeks. He could almost hear her voice, soft and lilting, just like how she used to sing to him—the only use for her voice when her family cut her off after eloping with his father. What was the name of that song that she liked to sing so much? Something about the moon and how its song remained incomplete—Ralph indignantly wiped the watery grief from his face. He felt sudden, childish resentment over the fact that he couldn't remember the title of the song—like he was already betraying her memory, already losing his grip on her. He didn't want to forget the way that her lilac perfume laced their home; a scent that slowly began to fade… or the way that her soft, golden curls felt against his face when he hugged her… or how her gentle laughter livened her crystal eyes._

_His empty, wide-eyed stare slid to the crowd, to the statue-like faces of the adults that had gathered—all identical in their black, prisoner's garb. All identical in their lack of emotion. He wondered if any of them truly knew about his mother's beautiful smile, her lilac scent, or of her singing. Ralph tried to put a memory with any of the faces—none came. His father, standing close by, was the only other one aside from himself with swollen, mottled eyes. _

_Just before the vicar concluded the reading of passage, Ralph saw another individual approach the gathering close by, one of the tallest, most intimidating men that he had ever laid eyes upon. He—like every other man present—was dressed in a dark suit meticulously tucked beneath a long, expensive looking coat. His fedora tilted slightly forward, causing shadows to crease into his stony expression. The crude apathy within his eyes was the most fear-provoking display to the fair-haired boy as they swept across the smooth wood of his mother's coffin. Unlike everyone else, this stranger began to unabashedly scrutinize the face of every person there—his eyes coldly calculating, as if judging their proverbial worth. Ralph cringed as he felt the man's harsh gaze upon him next, unconsciously slipping his frozen, rain-slickened hand into his father's. _

_Ralph risked another glance at the man and was startled with the fact that he was still staring at him. An involuntary shudder ran through his cold body at the man's nearly colorless eyes. They were the eyes that he would have imagined on a fictitious monster—one that terrorized just for the sake of being dominant. Never would he have put them upon a person, one that retained a soul._

_The blond tore his wide eyes away and he held his father's hand now with sharp pressure. He felt his father shift beside him, though Ralph kept his eyes on the ground. The man with the inhuman eyes began to withdraw from the unreceptive crowd. His stride casual and confident as he stalked away. Ralph's eyes burned, however, when he heard the man mutter something that he instinctually knew was foul—something that his sheltered, innocent ears had not yet heard before._

"_What a fucking waste."_

…

Ralph broke from the reverie as he finished slipping into normal clothes—jeans and a t-shirt. Goose-bumps rose along his bare arms at the dry coolness of the autumn air, still present within his room. He yanked a hoodie from his open drawer and pulled it over him just as he heard another sharp knock to the door. He grumbled when his head got caught in the hood. He dragged it back hard, forcing his hair into an instant golden frenzy when it finally pulled through.

"Coming," he shouted when the second knock came. Running a quick hand through his hair, he noticed that it was going to need a cut soon. The ends were beginning to curl slightly as they fell across his forehead and already halfway covered his ears. He sighed, irritated, before reaching the door.

And it opened to reveal an impatient Irene, dressed in jeans and a sweater. Her book bag was slung arbitrarily over her shoulder. It was the sight of the books in her arms that forced Ralph to remember that she was studying with him today. Irene's dark eyes suddenly widened upon inspecting him. Her mouth opened, though no words formed. She closed it before it sprang open again.

"Ralph… is everything ok?" She asked cautiously, her gaze sweeping over him as she stepped forward into his room.

Ralph drew back, allowing her in before shutting the door. "Uh, yeah… Why?" He answered, almost inattentively. His mind was still half within the assault of the memory upon reading his dad's short note. Irene only further studied him as she set her things upon his desk, a look of severe doubt creeping into her eyes.

"You—well—look like you've been crying," she stated simply, though quietly, trying not to embarrass him. Boys seemed to resent the fact that they had the physical ability to show any emotion after all, was Irene's cynical, somewhat humored thought.

"What? No I havn—" Ralph irritably touched his cheek, though stopped mid-sentence when he felt that his eyes were a little wet. He wiped them hard and fast with the back of his hand, the fresh flush of mortification already burning his face. Irene's face softened at his display.

"Is something wrong?" She asked as she sat on the edge of his bed, her gaze flitted briefly to the white paper that still lay upon his nightstand. Curiosity burned blatantly as she turned back towards Ralph. He noticed it.

"Just a letter from my dad. You can read it if you want." He shrugged as she snatched it. Her eyes assailed the writing. "And no, nothing's wrong." He finished, a trace of frustration making itself known within his tenor. Just then, he remembered exactly what was in the letter and instantly regretted letting her read it. And so casually. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Err—wait a minute—"He said as he quickly stepped closer to her, though he could tell by the growing, horrified expression upon her face that it was too late. He released a quiet, frustrated groan.

"Ralph! Why didn't you tell me that it's your birthday today?" Irene questioned in an elevated voice, her expression completely dumbfounded by the discovery. "No wonder you looked like you were crying," her voice softened significantly with the last statement.

"I wasn't crying!" Ralph growled, instantly annoyed with the fact that she was being so emotional about it. "And I sort of forgot that it was today…" he ended sheepishly.

"How can you forget your own birthday?" Irene asked, disbelief wrought her voice.

"It's just a birthday. It's not like it's really all that different from any other day. S'not that hard to forget…" Ralph muttered.

Irene released an exasperating sigh. She was silent for a moment before her frown began to loosen. "Well at least I found out early in the day and not while we were having supper."

Ralph wasn't exactly sure if he liked the sound of that. "Uh… shouldn't we get to studying?" He said as he took one of her textbooks from his desk; it was labeled 'Biology'. Irene snatched the book from his hand before it had pounded back upon the desk. She slid all of the studying material to the side, momentarily out of his reach.

"Of course not! We are leaving for the day." Irene smiled. "Well… for as long as they'll let us sign out for." She folded her arms, waiting for him to challenge her; a look of stubborn fortitude took over her features.

"That's not necessary," he said. Silence thickened the air as Irene scowled at him. He folded his arms, matching her dogged expression, though not to the same extent. "Really. I wouldn't mind spending the day trying to improve my marks."

"But we can do that _tomorrow_," Irene argued, her voice grew marginally lower as she stepped closer to him; her fingertips softly touched his forearm. "Please?" Ralph's face grew infinitely warmer within the newfound proximity, especially when he remembered exactly what they had done the evening before. He involuntarily leaned into her touch, despite the fact that he knew she was doing this on purpose.

_Dammit_.

"Uh…sure," Ralph relented, his will suddenly feeling markedly weaker than before… and she did all that within a matter of seconds.

"Really…? O-okay, let's go," Irene spoke a little haltingly, disbelieving that she could convince him so quickly. She was sure that this was going to be a struggle. She hid her smile, liking this newfound power of persuasion. "I'll just leave my things here." She rummaged through her book bag until she found her purse. She pulled the strap over her shoulder as she left the book bag slung over the back of his chair. Ralph followed her out the door and down the halls, trying to take his defeat as graciously as he could.

_Could be fun_… Ralph thought, though it didn't do much to improve his presently drab mood.

It was actually sunny today, a fact that lifted both of their spirits as they checked out within the administration's office. Several other students seemed to have held the same idea of venturing out into town, altogether willing victims in nature's siren call. Irene seemed to have also taken Ralph's concern for his grades to heart, for she began to verbally quiz him in Theology for the upcoming test. He didn't grumble about it, but played along, sometimes even getting some of the answers purposefully wrong just to annoy her. He smiled, stifling a laugh when her mouth took on a slight grimace at his third wrong answer in a row.

"Hmm—perhaps we should have studied," Ralph playfully attempted to provoke her as they continued to walk down the sidewalk, passing various shops. Irene snorted.

"_Perhaps_ you need to stop being such a pessimist. Honestly! What normal person would rather stay cooped up studying, of all things, when you could be outside doing things?" Irene objected as she turned around to face him, carefully walking backwards along the pavement in front of him.

"Well, I wouldn't consider it abnormal. What is normal, anyway?" The blond rebuffed, a decidedly smug expression slowly taking dominance the longer that he stared at Irene. She noticed this and sighed—long and irritable, though her eyes sparkled with hidden amusement. Concentrating on their conversation, Irene briefly lost her footing on the walkway, though quickly regained her footing. She looked up, pink touching her cheeks lightly. Something caught her eye over Ralph's shoulder, something that caused her breath to catch slightly within her throat. It was the dark-haired chorister that seemed to always put Ralph on edge... and only a few steps behind him was the blazing-haired Merridew. They had just casually rounded the corner further down the road and though Merridew didn't seem to have seen them, Irvine's eyes immediately connected with hers.

Irene looked back at Ralph and spoke as conversationally as she could with an innocent expression. "Hey don't look now, but two of your chorister friends are down the road behind us." She noticed Ralph pale.

"How far?" He whispered as he continued forward at a leisure pace, his eyes glued to hers, as if it was the only way that he wouldn't be tempted to look over his shoulder.

"I'd say about fifty metres."

With that, Ralph casually looked to the side, noticing an alleyway coming up within the next turn of the building. His eyes gleamed with a sudden, obscure mischief as he jolted his head back towards Irene. "Feeling a little adventurous?" He dared.

Irene immediately caught onto his suddenly spirited take on the situation as it leaked into her face, her body tensed with anticipation, wondering what he had in mind. "Bring it, Medevane," she accepted in a low voice, a devious smile shrouding her lips.

"Good," Ralph said a little breathy now as he took her hand as they neared their breakaway point. "Follow me." Irene looked at where he was looking and glanced back towards where she last saw Irvine, a little flustered to see that he was now starting to make his way towards them. Merridew still looked oblivious towards the situation as he began to eye something within one of the windows.

Just as they rounded the corner into the alleyway, they took off. Ralph lead the way, though their grasp upon each other's hands never slackened. Irene kept pace with him fairly well. They emerged within the other street, though Ralph wasted no time in lingering and began to immediately cross the street as soon as he saw that no cars were coming down the road. Irene remained close to his heels, their shoes making sharp, loud contact with the street. Irene risked a glance behind and was glad to see that they weren't being followed. Once they hit the other side of the road, Ralph continued to sprint until reaching another break within the buildings. They went through without a moment's hesitancy—their cheeks were now rosy with the combination of the thrill and exertion. Irene looked behind once more and caught a brief glimpse of Irvine's dark head just as he emerged from the alleyway that they had first previously gone through.

"He's in the last street," Irene said just as they rounded the corner into the next street, her pulse pounded hard within her chest as she grinned. Ralph didn't respond, but only dashed to the nearest door to them, which happened to be a pristine, little sweets shop. He opened the door, much rougher than was necessary, and pulled Irene in behind him, nearly causing her to tumble into him. Irene pushed the door closed with her weight as Ralph leaned against her, up against the door, both attempting to catch their excited breath.

Their heavy breathing was interrupted by the sudden eruption of their unbridled laughter. After a nearly full minute passed, the hilarity began to taper off, though their bodies still quivered with silent amusement. Irene suddenly realized just how many eyes were upon them as she lifted her face up and over Ralph's shoulder as he continued to face the door, his eyes peering out the window. Irene pulled the blond up from her, forcing him to look around at their environment—at the customers as they glared at them as if they were a pair of no-good hooligans.

Ralph and Irene quickly righted themselves, their faces both a growing shade of beet red as they moved away from the door, now deathly quiet as they pretended to meekly view the selections like everybody else seemed to be doing. Ralph's hands were shoved deep within his jean pockets as Irene fingered the sleeve of her sweater. As soon as they were once again ignored by the patrons and her face had finally managed to cool from the nonverbal censure, Irene slipped her arm absentmindedly around Ralph's, bringing herself slightly closer to him. His cheeks began to color once again as a light, warm thrill tingled at the contact.

They waited there, inattentively viewing the displays as they glanced every so often towards the windows, waiting to catch a glimpse of their prospective followers. They didn't show, however, and Ralph grew easier as the minutes idled by. The number of customers began to dwindle as they made their purchases.

Ralph finally began to take in the details of the small shop. On the outside, it was white and shone in rather unambiguous contrast with the other shops that surrounded it. Inside, it appeared more worn and held a more homey appeal. The walls were lined and decorated with every candied color, while the shelves housed the more delicate confectionaries. Ralph could feel the corner of his mouth tighten into a half smile, feeling more like a small child again the longer he stared at the varying colors. Irene giggled softly, noticing his change of expression.

"See something you like?" Her smile widened when his arm that she held attempted to nudge, though she only grasped onto it tightly so that he wouldn't jab her. Her eyes gleamed with simulated victory as she looked back at him. "Well—pick something out."

She released his arm and stepped back when he gave her a dubious look. "Hey, don't look at me like that. You're the one that forgot to mention that it was your birthday. How else am I going to treat you?" Irene's lips curved even more at him before turning around, drifting closer to the counter. Her eyes wandered towards the pretty displays of chocolate behind the glass.

Irene soon spied an older woman slouched in her chair behind the counter, a tissue clutched tightly in her hand as she dabbed irritatingly at the corners of her eyes. The woman caught her stare and quickly threw the used tissue away somewhere in a trash beneath the counter. She smiled feebly, though the action was grotesquely forced, the faraway, pained look never left her gaze. Irene had never been greeted before with a more demoralized expression—the mere sight of it nearly rattled her heart.

"Good afternoon," the woman's voice was slightly rough, as if unused to speaking. "If you have any questions, please feel free to ask away." She stated with as much friendliness as she could muster, though it sounded routine and monotonous.

"Good afternoon, ma'am, and thanks… I will," Irene replied politely. The brunette's eyes traveled behind the counter, towards the dark stairs that led to the second floor.

"If you don't mind my asking… what's on the second floor?" She felt herself blurt out, though the slight heat trickled into her cheeks with the prospect that she was possibly being intrusive. The old woman looked a little lost for a moment, as if righting her brain, translating what Irene had just asked her before the light of understanding filtered through.

"Oh… not at all. I actually live up on the second floor." She smiled at Irene's look of slight disbelief. "It can be snug at times, but it's just fine for one… or two." The woman's gaze skimmed briefly over the spotless counter surface until it reached the wall closest to her, lined with old photographs—mostly of various groups of people. Irene followed her gaze, drawing closer to get a better look.

"All by yourself?" Irene wondered softly out loud.

"The shop was actually started by my brother," the woman said, whilst pointing to a monochromic photograph of a dark-haired, smiling man with a bushy mustache, proudly standing before the front of the sweets shop. "He did live here before I did… but has since died."

"I'm sorry," Irene lowered her eyes slightly. She felt the familiar figure of Ralph as he slowly approached close behind her.

The older woman shook her head. "No, it's really quite alright, dear. It's been many years since." At this point, she seemed to beam brightly, if only for a moment as she added. "And I had his son to take care of. Would you like to see more?" Not waiting for an answer, her strained, white fingers pulled something out of a worn bag that slung from one of the old, wodden chairs behind the counter. Irene thought that she was a little overeager over something as trivial as showing random strangers her personal photos, but she supposed that there were lots of nostalgic old women that tended to do that in public.

Perhaps she hasn't really had anyone to talk to in a while… Irene inferred silently as she drew closer to the counter. The woman laid bare her treasured images. Ralph followed closely behind, his attention oddly piqued.

The woman fingered one photograph in particular. Its cracked edges were starting to curl with age and excessive handling. She offered it to Irene with reverent gentleness. Her dark eyes surveyed a young boy sitting on the curb; his eyes squinted up at the person holding the camera, sun glinting off his round glasses, only more emphasized by the roundness of his pale cheeks. He looked to be about nine years old in this picture. Irene couldn't help but to smile. There was something… enduring about the pudgy, young boy. She carefully laid the picture back on the counter as the woman handed her a few more—one of the boy on his bike, a few others in his school uniform on the first day of school.

"Aw…he's cute," Irene spoke as she flipped through the others. Their attention was too fastened upon the counter now scattered with old photographs to notice the suddenly ashen-faced Ralph—his eyes immobile upon the very first image shown of the boy—the only person whose friendship ever truly meant anything—the boy that he didn't even know the name of. Flashes of past conch meetings, shelters, and fire trudged through his mind, invading it like savages with pointed sticks. The images ended with one of a broken skull upon rocks, secreting clumps of red and white. Ralph turned away from the two, the threat of bile and tears burning his throat.

_Oh God..._ He felt like he was going to be sick. He turned his eyes away, but he couldn't see anything within the building without seeing Piggy. Without hearing his muffled, pungent voice. He blinked and felt something unpleasantly wet escape.

_No, not here! Why was he so damn weak? Why couldn't he be strong—like his father?_ The rebuking thoughts only created more wet tracks down his face. Luckily, there were no other customers than Irene and himself, though it did little to sway the burn of shame and sorrow as it settled heavily and sickeningly within his gut.

Irene looked back towards her blond companion, surprised to see that he had wandered away towards the other end of the store, as the woman began to carefully put away her pictures as she dabbed at the corners of her cheeks, blaming seasonal allergies within the process. Irene excused herself as she followed him, slipping behind one of the shelves; and was fixed for a moment as she surveyed a brief glimpse of his tears. He noticed her and only turned further away, but not before Irene ran to him, nearly colliding with his body against the wall, her arms tight about his frame in a fierce embrace. They shared a quivering, soft gasp. No words were exchanged.

They stood like that for a moment, melting, forgetting for a moment where exactly they were. Ralph made a move to wipe at his face with resentful hands, but not before Irene reached up, gently removing them from existence with the sides of her thumbs. The blond opened his mouth, a justification ready to tumble from his lips, though was silenced by her finger. "No one saw them… and neither did I," Irene offered him a small, sad smile. He would tell her when he was ready, she quietly assessed. Just like so many other things that made little sense to her about him…

For a moment they stood still, regarding the other with unreadable expressions. It was Irene, however that broke the silence. "Hey," She spoke. An entirely new tone of voice coated her words—the usual precursor for light banter. "Did you choose something yet? Or do I have to choose something for you?" Her brow rose slightly.

"No," Ralph released a faintly annoyed breath, answering both questions, as he stepped away from her, his eyes briefly scanning the shelves. He grabbed the first thing he saw that contained his favorite food—a bag of chocolate covered peanuts. Seemingly satisfied, Irene took them from him before approaching the counter. After paying for them and the woman had wrapped them more than was absolutely necessary, a familiar dark head passed by the window. It was just perceivable out of the corner of her eye, but Irene flinched in the slightest all the same. She peered cautiously towards Ralph behind her and was somewhat satisfied to see that he was too busy ogling the chocolaty samples of another display to have noticed.

After taking her purchase from the counter, she nudged the package into Ralph's grasp. "I'll be right back," she murmured quietly, to which he only replied with a vague nod. Her lips twitched in slight amusement at his obvious distraction before briskly walking towards the door. A quick look at the windows told her that the streets were currently emptied of the dark boy. She quietly slipped out of the shop.

Irene walked a little ways down the street, though not far from the building. The coolness of the air nipped at her exposed skin. It seemed to have grown colder since their little escapade.

"Having fun with your boyfriend, Bradley?" A quiet voice resounded from behind her. She could almost feel the prickly warmth of his breath and instantly recoiled. Her body was instantly skittish from the abruptness of his vocal intrusion. Her heart pounding hard and fast. She hadn't even heard him coming behind her! Irene whipped around to face him. The wind ruffled Roger's dark hair, scattering his fringe above his eyes, casting a dark obscurity over the expression that lay there. She was somewhat startled, yet equally relieved to see that he was alone.

Irene flashed him a faux smile, her teeth showing beneath slightly curled lips. "Of course," She answered quickly, trying to hide the strange tightness of unease as it gripped her stomach. A tinge of fury glazed her mind at the 'boyfriend' comment. "Having fun with yours?"

Roger's eyes darkened. His body tensed, forcing himself into rigidity. It passed quickly, smoothly replaced by a sympathetic look; his eyes were now suddenly kind and somewhat mournful. "Why, Bradley… I have to admit, I'm a bit worried for you."

Irene laughed. "I doubt that. You hardly know me."

Roger remained unmoved, though his suddenly savage eyes glinted. "You're right. I don't. But I know who you're shacking with. I know him _very_ well."

Irene pursed her lips, staring in mild astonishment. "First of all, I am not _shacking_ with anyone." She sniffed, the cool autumn air burning her nostrils. "And secondly, I somehow I doubt that as well." Her voice was softer, clearly less confident than before. Roger saw it and he pounced upon the opportunity, the corner of his lip lifting wickedly.

"Oh? How well do you _really_ know him?"

Irene's stare faltered, wavered back towards the sweets shop before resting on the dark form before her. Inside, the doubt fluttered revoltingly within her stomach, its wings lacerating her insides with each grotesque stroke. Her teeth clenched tightly beneath closed lips.

It was Roger's turn to laugh—low and delightful, though to Irene's ears, it held a slightly maddened quality to it that made her skin crawl. "That's what I thought… You don't know what you're playing with. You'd best go back to your other friends before you get burned." His tone took a nearly mocking turn—one that he used on unsuspecting younger ones that he so enjoyed toying with.

"Funny. You actually sound concerned." she spoke, dry sarcasm smearing her words. Her arms crossed tightly, almost protectively about her frame, warding off the icy breeze that now gripped her sides.

Roger smiled in a way that made her feel small. "Yes, that's it, Bradley. I'm so fucking concerned about you." In an unsuspecting instant, he closed the space between them, his face only millimeters from hers. Within his eyes stormed a dangerous concoction of unbridled disgust and tranquility. Irene released a surprised breath, taking a quick, nervous step back, nearly losing her balance in the process. He grinned; his blood instantly pounded pleasantly with the look of fear and indecision that had flared across her face.

He continued; his speech unhindered as if nothing unusual had occurred. "Who wouldn't be concerned? Medevane's quite brutal when he wants to be. His mates have the tendency to get hurt when they least expect it. Though, don't let me stop you if you're _dying_ to be near him." He giggled at this last statement, as if partaking in an enormously hilarious inside joke.

Irene only stared, blinking.

"Ever ask him what happened to the last one?" He said. Before she could barely even form a thought or react, he snorted, distinct and purposefully, like that of a pig. It was brief and nearly inaudible before his body quivered with wild, lurid laughter. Irene heard his strange swine imitation, though it only fostered the irritation within her already befuddled mind.

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about? You're mad!" Irene shouted at him, two points of color flared upon her cheekbones. Her confused expression quickly turned into that of a glare as she further scrutinized this enigma of a boy.

Just then, the front door of the shop burst open, revealing a stoic faced Ralph. He instantly drew close to the duo, his cautious eyes never leaving the dark boy as he stood next to Irene, his shoulder brushing ahead of hers. Irene shifted her body weight away. They stood like that for a while, time slipping past like water, as the boys eyed each other. Irene tensed, feeling the thick tension between the two of them building into an uncomfortable pressure, leaking like poison into the atmosphere.

Roger's face remained impassive, though his eyes darted between the two. Not even a smidgen of his facial muscles moved, refusing to reveal what was brewing within his head. Something was bothering the hunter, though he couldn't quite place his finger upon it. Something about Ralph's expression—something had clearly set him off. Well… more _off_ than normal.

For a moment, the blond's image flickered back to how he'd been when he was chief. The mold that he had tried to fit into towards the beginning… chastising them for letting the fire go out. Unlike Jack, however, Roger didn't care for his approval. Never did. Ralph bewildered him more than he liked to admit. Society always had. The best he could do was to play along, put on the best mask that he could, while playing his game beneath. He had only to perfect his most disarming smile in the mirror—as unnatural as the arrangement felt upon his face.

Irene's hand crept slowly towards the back of Ralph's arm until she took a steady hold over it. She pulled slightly, her eyes only on the side of his face until he broke from Roger's gaze; Ralph's eyes flickered over towards her. There was an unspoken agreement as they turned away from the dark boy and began to walk down the street before emerging within the alley that they had previously come from.

Roger only stared, his eyes went blank. Several minutes passed until he heard a slight commotion from behind. From the way that he walked, he could immediately tell who it was.

"There you are… why are you all the way over here?" Jack inquired, a suspicious brow raised slightly. Roger barely acknowledged him as he turned around. His hands burrowed within his pockets as he meandered in the opposite direction that his targets of interest had went, barely missing Jack's shoulder as he passed him.

"No reason," he murmured, shadowed gaze ahead. Jack's jaw tightened upon the vague answer. Something was going on. The only reason he even thought to accept Roger's goading of going into town with him was to figure out what exactly he was up to. So far, today felt like a total waste, the redhead silently fumed as he followed the Roger. He was still as much in the dark as he had been for the past two months. Not that he had been around that much in the past few months. His father made sure of that.

Things were going to change. Life only recently started to get interesting again, Jack thought with a mild smirk. His pale eyes fleetingly browsed the windows of the sweets shop as they passed by. His gaze connected with the older woman within as she cleaned her windows.

The setting sun beckoned its warmth away from the earth, slowly dipping even further from view.

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><p><strong>Not too much action, but I felt that it was necessary for the time being. Story-wise. Nonetheless, things are definately starting to move forward a bit more... Reviews would be lovely. :)<strong>


	7. Catch and Bite

**A/N: Writing about washrooms brought back interesting memories. I know all too well the pain of sharing one with fifty other people on the same floor for the entirety of a school year. Not cool. Especially when you're sick or forced to keep an eye out for peeping perverts. Our floor was plagued with an alarming number of incidents. -_- Thankfully I'm now situated in a dorm that includes a bathroom for every few roommates. Heh. Ok, rant over.**

**Enjoy the nice looong update. **

**Disclaimer: The boys are not my creations. If they were, who knows what they would've been subjected to.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 7 — Catch and Bite<strong>

"_I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."_

_-Edgar Allen Poe_

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

After parting from Irene on the lawn, Ralph soon found himself wandering down shadowed halls. It was later than he anticipated… and was more than sure that most of the others were already in their beds, surrendering to the seduction of sleep. He wished that he could so easily accept rest. To know nothing but naïve trust before allowing sleep to hold him captive. Without the lingering of sinister promises. He scowled in the dark. It was when he turned down the windowed hall, one of the brightest whenever the moonlight filtered through; that the monogamy of the pattern broke. An obscure shadow crouched beneath the windows. It appeared to be staring ahead at one of the many crucifixes, weighing so heavily against the wall. He drew in a bit closer, curious until stopping dead in his tracks.

Jack.

And he looked positively drained.

His uniform was wrinkled, the white sleeves of the collared shirt were pushed up to his elbows and the tie was hanging loose and undone. Lean arms were perched steadily upon knees. His hands were almost lost within chaotic red hair as heavy, half-lidded eyes slowly inclined towards the floor.

"Jack," Ralph called out in a hushed tone. The redhead remained unmoved, currently dead to the world. Nothing in his statue-like state gave away any sign that he had heard anything. Sighing softly, Ralph set down his package against the wall before drawing closer to the seated figure. Crouching directly in front of him, mild fingertips met his pale forearm. "Jack," he repeated with a bit more substance.

He seemed to have stirred from whatever had a hold of him the moment he felt his touch. Wincing, his eyes shot accusingly at Ralph. Glaring, Jack regarded the boy that now looked at him with mild concern, which only he regarded as a slight upgrade from utter hatred. Turning his bitter gaze away, he leaned against the wall. He felt the swift urge to wound the appealing image before him, to say something nasty in an attempt to hurt him worse than how he had inexplicably hurt him at the chapel nights ago. Just like how he used to on the island. So many times.

Instead, war was waged against his vehemently divided mind. He wanted to hurt, to humiliate and yet he also felt the intruding physical thrill at even being close to him, the side that had saved him from Roger in the pool, ultimately weakening his resolve.

Stupid Ralph and his stupid swimmer's build. Begrudgingly, Jack rather liked what puberty had done to his prey since the island. His body now held the smooth indents and shape of an adolescent. Maturation had been kind to him, endowing less gawkiness that most that age had been bestowed with and more of the envied svelte form of an understated athlete.

"_And WHY am I even thinking of this_?" Jack inwardly griped. _Why was he so damn attracted to this pathetic blond? When would he stop invading his mind—seizing his every thought—and when would he stop making him so _bleeding_ horny?_

This is dangerous… certainly not how it was supposed to be. Clearly some heavy reminding was in order. But… not now… Jack was exhausted and clearly not in the mood. Especially after dealing with Roger. This was the most time he had spent with the teenager in months, actually.

He could only mutter a hostile, short response in return. "What do you want?"

"Are you alright?" Ralph reached out and tested his forehead with the back of his hand, brushing aside the rusty fringe, completely unperturbed by Jack's brutal tone. The chorister's breath caught in his throat, though hid it well. He resisted the sudden urge to pin Ralph to the floor, to violate his smooth body. His fingers tightened at the thought as he felt his eyes drawn like flies to honey towards Ralph's mouth. It had been so soft and yielding in the chapel—the memory of how it felt and tasted caused delicious, sinful warmth to pleasantly tease his insides with deceptive subtlety. Jack suppressed the ravenous thoughts before they elevated.

_No_… _he had to stay in control here._

Ralph looked down at Jack, oblivious to the other's internal clash as he withdrew his hand. "You feel pretty warm."

Jack swallowed thickly before responding, his voice was hard, even sounding a bit conceited. "I'm fine."

"Whatever..." Ralph shrugged it off. A substantial pause lingered before Ralph's voice filtered through once more. "…Mind if I sit here?"

Taking Jack's silence as an affirmative, he slowly lowered himself next to him on the floor, his back to the wall. He was rather close, though their shoulders didn't touch. Ralph's legs came close to his chest as he rested slender arms over his knees. The silence continued to prevail. Both staring ahead.

_Idiot. Do you actually trust me enough to actually sit by me…alone…in a dark hallway? Your instincts are still worth shit, apparently._ Jack wanted to say, though his tight-lipped mouth refused to budge.

"Shouldn't you be getting some sleep or something?" Jack said instead, trying his best to sound disinterested, merely thinking up an excuse to be rid of him. In reality, he had noticed the dark circles with startling clarity beneath Ralph's eyes and gruffly wondered if anyone cared to notice or if they did, neglected to harass him into getting more rest. _Some stupid friends he's got_, Jack silently muttered.

In response, Ralph involuntarily brought his knees closer to his chest, as if warding off an onslaught of glacial wind. Mussed fair hair fell into his eyes as he peered down, his finger absent-mindedly tracing circles on the floor next to his shoe. "I don't sleep much these days… You could say I never look forward to this part of night. I don't know what the hell to do with myself."

Jack offered a brief glance, hidden understanding touching cold eyes. "I guess that explains why you look so damn tired all the time." Ralph shifted, connecting with the blue gaze. Jack continued on as he broke the visual link, head inclined towards the wall once more. Stillness rung so heavily that his dull, somewhat scratchy voice seemed to startle the air between them. "I don't sleep much either. Never did since—"He stopped, clammy palms pressed tightly over the front of his trousers. He didn't want to finish the thought, though he was fairly sure that his listener knew what he was going to say.

This time, Ralph's eyes warmed over, glazed with a tinge of sympathy. The thought had never truly crossed his mind that Jack was going through the same thing—or at least something somewhat similar. As twisted as it seemed, he felt better knowing that he wasn't the only one that suffered every night.

"I miss normalcy," Ralph spoke out of the blue. He wasn't even aware that he was going to speak until he did on impulse. Jack looked at him with a slightly raised, incredulous brow.

Ralph breath came slow, "I miss living a normal life. I thought things would be okay once we got back… but they're not." His voice dwindled to a whisper. He felt sudden gnawing, discomfort at sharing such things with Jack of all people, but he knew with that simple glance from Jack that he understood his predicament, probably better than anyone else ever could.

"Sorry," Jack breathed, barely audible, his eyes still studying the wall in front of him.

_Wait, why am _I_ apologizing? I'm not sorry!_ Iron pride collided so heavily within his chest that he instantly wanted to take back his single syllable word. And just as he looked at Ralph to do so, he sat motionless by the unexpected look on his face. It was… open. But what caused the inner savage to drool was the fact that he looked vulnerable…

The idea of a submissive Ralph thrilled him. Thoughts of the blond finally yielding to him caused his body to harden, so he formulated. The old hunter within was supremely proud of the accidental lure, as an irresistible string of words were quickly crafted and laid out for the former chief. Jack had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from leering at his own unintended brilliance.

"I'm sorry... I think that you deserve it more than the rest of us… to have your life back." The velvet voice was clear. He hadn't known the effects of luring prey instead of just going straight for the kill in his earlier years. Well, now he knew. Or so he was fairly sure.

On the receiving end, Ralph was a more little shocked to hear something like that coming out of Jack Merridew's mouth. He couldn't help but to stare at him, a little in disbelief and a little in surreal obligation.

"Jack…?" The blond inquired gently. Jack felt a pleasant flush at hearing Ralph say his name in that tone of voice. He wanted to hear him speak like that to him again. Jack slowly brought his now fervent gaze from the wall to Ralph's face, studying him as if he were an apparition that would suddenly evaporate into thin air. An apparition that he wanted to catch before it did.

Ralph could feel the balminess of Jack's scrutiny and suddenly remembered his forced affections a while back. Though the power behind them still terrified him, he had trouble denying the fact that he felt a small, perplexing tightness within his stomach afterwards. It was a tightness that was the usual herald to retching his guts out, though this time, it was dappled with intoxicating warmth, one that refused to be exorcised from his system—and so it remained, continuing to baffle the hell out of him every time it surfaced liked the monster it was. Like the monster he really was.

However, the question of why he did it remained. And it tore at Ralph's rational mind. He knew that it wasn't right—that it was supposed to be immoral, an unspeakable act between the likes of them and yet he couldn't deny the hidden craving for that part of himself again. It felt eerily analogous to the night that he succumbed to his monstrous, nonsensical craving for Simon's blood. His insides cringed at the thought.

But he needed to know. Ralph summoned his determination, a remnant of his old self, in his desire to understand the warped mess that was Jack's mind. Or to at least have a glimpse of it… He looked at the chorister now with the signature stubborn gaze in tow.

"Jack—I need to know… why you kissed me." Ralph's voice started out strongly enough, though it grew steadily quieter by the end, as if even mentioning it was an act of terrible sin.

Jack was silent, allowing the quiet air to rest over them like thick gauze. His eyes didn't budge and though Ralph had difficulty in doing so, he stalwartly kept his gaze. The redhead's face was unnervingly empty of expression as his brazen hand reached up to touch the smooth side of the blond's face. Forcing himself not to flinch or pull away, Ralph continued to look at him, eyes demanding an answer. Jack's laughed breathily as he drew closer, their faces so startlingly close, they could feel the other's hot breathe.

Although the hallway was bathed in shadows, the moonlight caught Ralph in such a way that it reminded Jack of the night that he had left him at the chapel. Golden hair that had paled in the trickery of the night's glow. Jack's diminutive smile widened, observing the stubborn way in which the stubborn prey set his jaw, determined in keeping his ground. It was so like him, that he couldn't help but to release another sound of amusement. "You're beautiful…" Jack whispered, his mouth closer still.

"W-what?" Ralph's eyes reflected inner bewilderment.

"Your hair, your eyes, your body—you're perfect," The hunter purred. Hooded eyes continued to stare. His mouth curled into his lazy grin. It was so close; Ralph felt an oncoming blush heat his face as well as his slowly racing heart. All the while, his captor continued to murmur.

_Wait a minute... What the hell!_ Ralph tried to ponder this silently, feeling only mounting confusion; though found the distracting proximity forbade him from thinking clearly. "H-How—"He faltered weakly before being cut off by Jack's voice.

"You never noticed," Jack's silken speech turned bitter. "You were too consumed by your rules and fire to notice. I tried to impress you with what I was good at." He tapered off into his drone-like tone from before, his hand on Ralph's face moved slightly, a light stroke. It was gentle in blatant contrast to his bitter words. "Unfortunately, what I was good at repulsed you. That much was _obvious_. And I came to hate you for it." Jack remembered his envy for Ralph's skin and how it quickly coincided with his lust for blood. _His_ blood in the end… a temporary alternate to vent the ache.

"Even when we left… it never stopped." At this point, Ralph noticed Jack's eyes shift slightly to the side of his face, to the shadows; a trace of something obscure plagued his expression as he began to relate the next thought. "And I thought that having blood— and attaining it at whatever cost would stop it. Help me to finally do away with you." He felt Ralph flinch beneath his hand.

There was an elongated pause before he persisted. "I'm not going to lie... I really wanted it to be your blood… I wanted to end your life, if only to keep you away. Always challenging. Even when you weren't there. You're always there… _Always. Bloody. There_." Jack's mouth curved resentfully, eyes frozen forward.

Ralph felt like he was holding his breath, trying and failing to understand the depth of this strange confession. And while he was coldly frightened—frightened to his very core, he also felt something else. Something unrelenting. A strange pulsing through his body at the very thought that someone could hold something so intense for him—even if it _was_ completely alarming. Always thinking that he was so painstakingly average, never attributing himself to cause such a penetrating interest from anyone, that it shook him to have Jack of all people hold onto something so fierce. Because of him.

Jack's hand tightened slightly over Ralph's cheek as he drew even closer, his eyes back to their cool, aloof assessment. "That's why—"he whispered, hot breath cascading over the prey's ear, "—I don't think I could've killed you. Everything would've been much less interesting if you weren't there."

He watched Ralph's face for any reaction, but only acquired his stare. One that was filled with shock, smudged with doubt; though he thought he could detect something else within his expression that he couldn't quite classify.

Ralph _couldn't_ move. He didn't know what to say. He remained unresponsive even when noticing the suggestive closeness of their faces. Jack impulsively closed the gap, landing a mere peck against the blond's mouth before pulling back to a respectable distance. Withdrawing his hand as well, Ralph felt unexpectedly cold and vacant. His body thrummed with prickling anticipation and Ralph suddenly found that his skin itched for touch... as much as he didn't want to admit it... as much as his good, civilized side shrieked against it. He brought his freshly flushed face to Jack with this realization and felt the simultaneous collision of embarrassment and something entirely too shameful for him to acknowledge as it curdled deep within.

Jack on the other hand felt increasingly stupid as the frozen moment wore on. _Am I not convincing enough?_ He thought, impatience burning through. He was somewhat stricken to find that he had mixed in some truth with his illusory persuasion, laid himself bare with half-honest words and all he got in response was the blond's quiet stiffness. Usually Jack excelled at deciphering a person, but found much to his annoyance that it was proving to be increasingly difficult with Ralph. Almost like how it was with a girl.

He exhaled harshly, not willing to take it any longer, his icy eyes profoundly irritated. "Say something," he hissed.

_Get away from him! He's insane! Didn't you hear what he just said? _Ralph tried to reason with himself, but his body had already betrayed him. He felt so weak and his mind buzzed. His heart felt like it skipped a beat as he instantly without thought or hesitation uttered his faint, broken whisper, "Show me…"

Jack's surprised breath hitched, though sharp instincts gave him quick reaction time as he processed this. Before Ralph could think further on what he had just said, Jack crashed his triumphant, hungry mouth hard against the blond's. Ralph gasped as he felt the starving lips upon him, causing Jack to smirk against him. This was so wrong and yet it had to audacity to feel so deliciously good.

Ralph reciprocated the hard movement with his own rather clumsy mouth. The chorister released a harsh, needy sound when he felt the blond responding, actually trying to respond against him. With that, Jack ruthlessly pried his soft mouth open as he skillfully slithered his tongue into the warm, wet crevice, instantly seeking out the blond's virgin tongue. Ralph whimpered quietly at the sudden oral invasion as his own timidly moved against the assaulting muscle. The sensation he got from the simple touch was one of such elevated heights of shivering pleasure, his mind was immediately bathed in a warm, thick haze.

One of Jack's hands hooked behind his neck, while the other ran down his clothed chest. Amusement fluttered beneath his skin upon feeling Ralph's tongue push against his, attempting to enter his mouth. Jack pushed back even harder, enjoying the little skirmish for control. He didn't expect any less. Not from him.

Nothing was decided in their tongued struggle as Ralph's fingers went into Jack's hair, slightly curling at the ends. He pulled gently as he felt his lungs beginning to burn for oxygen. Jack reluctantly complied; a barely visible string of their saliva connected Ralph's bottom lip to Jack's top as he retreated, breaking almost immediately as they inhaled harshly. Their chests rose and fell in the otherwise silent hall.

Ralph panted, his senses now on overdrive. Eyelids closed when he felt Jack's vengeful mouth proceed down his jaw and throat. Breath became rapid and deprived as he heard the sounds that the chorister was making, sucking and gently grating at his skin with the edge of over-tenacious teeth and lips.

"Ugh, Jack…" Ralph gasped, his head pushed back against the wall, when he felt him touch a particularly sensitive spot. A nearly pained noise escaped from the back of Jack's throat, feeling himself get almost excruciatingly hard at the way that his name had just been uttered. His palm rammed against the rough wall alongside Ralph, attempting to keep himself under control. No need to scare him off. Just never thought that he would live to ever hear _that _vocal gem.

He gained quick control, at least enough in order to speak to his catch in a controlled, breathy voice. "You like that, huh?" It was on a thin line between mocking and humored as he placed another open mouthed attack against the sensitive skin. Ralph's only response was tightening his already threaded fingers within Jack's hair and pushing him harder against his throat.

Jack's teeth grated even firmer against the surface as he further abused the skin, determined on making his mark—a lovely little claim over his quarry. One that he had wanted to make for a while now. Ralph was fast turning into a bundle of helpless, sensitive nerves as Jack repeatedly, viciously attacked him at the base of his throat. Jack slowed after a time, soothing the aggravated skin over with a cool swipe of his tongue, finally satisfied with his brutal handiwork.

_He's going to fume when he sees _this_ splendor in the morning…_ Jack shook with a silent, wicked chuckle.

Retreating his head just enough to see Ralph's expression, his brow now glistened lightly with sweat as did his lips, swollen with his rough, wet mouth. His eyes were wild and alert as he observed Jack's dark expression, smug with his deed.

Ralph's hands lowered from his hair to the back of his neck. Pulling Jack closer, he was rewarded with another kiss. Jack took Ralph's lips gently before leisurely working him up, nearly driving him mad as their kisses progressed with gradually open mouths. Jack took the lead, patiently tutoring his mouth on what to do. Jack's thoughts took a dark turn as he envisioned all the things that he wanted to teach him… now that he was hopelessly ensnared beneath his very fingertips. His hands, playing at innocence, once again trailed to the front of Ralph's shirt, distractedly fingering the hem.

So incased they were within the sweltering web of their actions, they barely even noticed the light rhythm of faraway feet slowly coming closer towards them down the hall. Ralph was the first to come to his senses and swiftly tugged at the back of Jack's shirt, alerting him. Their kiss ended prematurely and with a noise, much to Ralph's deep embarrassment. Jack quickly moved away from him, still pressed against the wall. Jack stood and helped Ralph rapidly to his feet just as the footsteps grew louder, almost upon them. Quickly remembering his package, Ralph grabbed it and held it under one arm. They hurriedly left down the hallway opposite of the resounding footfalls. They twisted wordlessly down a few more passages before reaching a room. Ralph approached his door, barely acknowledging the fact that the chorister still trailed him.

Instant regret began to fill the blond and the sickening strain within his gut told him that Jack needed to be gone, lest he wanted anything else to happen that he would surely regret later on. Stopping abruptly, Ralph opened his door quietly. He set the packaged chocolate on the desk to the side of his door and was startled to see that Jack was attempting to follow him through the doorway.

"What are you doing?" Ralph hissed, pushing Jack back out into the hallway. Probably harder than was necessary, but the blond pointedly decided to ignore that.

"Coming in," Jack replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world... which it sort of was. Ralph chose to ignore that as well. Even though it was dark, he knew exactly which devious expression the chorister wore. Damn him.

"No, you're not," Ralph replied with a fierce whisper, tightly fisting the front of Jack's shirt, ensuring in the darkness that he wasn't making any further movement towards his door.

"Is _this_ how you treat your guests?" Jack asked, greatly indulged. His amused lips twitched.

Ralph sighed, feeling slightly exasperated. "It's the middle of the night and there's school tomorrow." Jack chuckled softly as his face drew close, warm breath cascading over his face, causing Ralph to tremble with sensations awakened only moments ago.

"Are you implying—" Jack whispered adjacent to his ear, "—that I would keep you up all night?"

Ralph internally shuttered at the implication, his traitorous body pulsed. "N—no," He said. "I—I just really n—need to get sleep." He was cut off immediately when he felt the edge of Jack's teeth against the outer shell of his ear and then a slick tongue followed suit. Ralph stiffened in the tickling warmth from the simple action as it twisted his gut. Jack spoke again. "So I would keep you from sleep, hmm?" Ralph silently cursed the chorister as his fisted hand loosened before finally releasing Jack's shirt altogether.

"Shut up," Ralph said without much gusto as an uncomfortable heat poured through him, awkward confusion drowning his thoughts. He saw Jack's face withdraw just enough so that they were now face to face before suddenly leaning even closer. Quickly turning his face in blatant rejection, Jack's mouth only managed to brush the side of his face.

"Not here!" The panicked blond hissed, hastily stepping back, away from the dangerous proximity. Jack grunted with instant displeasure, a hint of his timeworn, younger self surfacing before it just as quickly dissolved.

Jack moved close to him one last time, allowing his fingers to touch his cheek. "Then, I will see you later…" he said. Before Ralph could reply, he left, disappearing within the shadows of the hallway without another noise. His prowling capabilities must have never left him, Ralph thought, trying not to feel the weight of ugly memories that instantly trailed behind. He quickly closed the door.

He began to peel off his clothing before quickly replacing them with nightclothes, all the while feeling suddenly famished. All those skipped meals must have finally caught up with him, he pondered agitatedly before taking some chocolate from the package. He ate a quarter of it before succumbing to heavy weariness, one that quickly enveloped his body. A suddenly drowsy Ralph crept into his bed and was asleep almost instantly.

The nightmares didn't come.

Or at least, Ralph wouldn't exactly call it a nightmare. It was almost the same, though it began to differ when it came to the part where Jack caught him, pinning him down hard against the hot sand, burning his back. The leering hunter leaned over to silence him, though not through the spilling his blood, but by smothering his mouth, throat, and body with an open, hungry mouth. To his own horror, Ralph found himself panting, wanting, and completely held captive by the blazing touch as it engraved wet patterns into his flesh. Slightly arched his back, he brought his body closer to the tanned, sweltering skin that continued to hover above his. Sun-stained fingers created grooves down his back, glazed with perspiration. The blond's jaw slackened, his still mouth slightly opened as Jack pressed down against Ralph's hard body with his. He heard quiet laughter as he closed his lids.

"Tell me what you want," He felt Jack's hot breath against his face.

"More…" Ralph breathed, his entire body tightened when he felt Jack's hips against his, creating immoral friction. "More…" Ralph repeated, his slightly elevated voice now shaking as glowing warmth seemed to vibrate within every cell of his body.

_Sinner._

_Traitor._

The savage's soft laughter still rung in his ears as he was startled into wakefulness. Unwilling eyes opened to the harsh morning light spilling in through his blinds, bouncing against the dull color of the ceiling. Ralph slowly sat up, his head still buzzing from the dream. He felt his pulse throb within his ears as well as his harsh breath. The memories from the night before assaulted the poorly waking brain, causing him to curiously finger his mouth, feeling both dazed and somewhat disgusted with himself that it had actually occurred. And with it came the sudden and wrathful heat of shame.

_He shouldn't be doing this! Especially with Jack… He couldn't be trusted._ As he made a move to disentangle himself from his covers, shock instantly flooded his system at the wetness between his legs.

_Oh no… I didn't… _He did_. _Ralph felt nauseated as he shifted his legs to the side of his bed as he sat up. Definitely sticky. Groaning, he brought his red face into his hands, feeling both mortified and exceedingly uncomfortable with the fact that he had just had a wet dream… about Jack. No. Fucking. Way.

Wanting to get rid of the incriminating evidence straightaway, he sullenly changed pants, trying to ignore the accusatory voices within his head while tossing the soiled clothing into the dirty hamper. Running a hand frantically through his hair, he realized that he had neglected to take a shower the night before, given the unexpected _distractions_. Grumbling, he cursed the putrid morning thus far before gathering his towel and shower things before leaving the room, quickly making his way through congested halls.

Most of the boys he passed ignored him, though some from his classes smiled in recognition. Others gave him completely odd looks, somewhere between amusement and slightly nodding their heads, scandalous approval lighting their eyes.

_What are they staring at?_

Ralph was a little miffed by the few peculiar expressions, though tried not to let it bother him as he opened the door to the washroom. Upon stripping, he was aware of a few more sidelong glances, though pointedly ignored them as he turned the showerhead on. His shower was quick and hot, seeing as he always tended to feel half frozen most of the time. He supposed that it was partly because it really was getting cooler, considering that winter was fast approaching, but he always felt like his body ran at naturally frigid temperatures. He always had to be moving, always doing something to get his blood pumping just to feel normal.

Finished, he turned off the water and quickly toweled himself dry, frustratingly catching a few more glances his way. Hearing a quiet snicker to his left, he looked over at the boy and caught him openly grinning at him. Ralph glared back, feeling his teeth grit beneath tight lips, annoyance written across his face. The boy's grin only grew wider. Pulling his boxers on, he made his way to the sinks.

He readied his toothbrush. Glancing up at the mirror overhead, he nearly dropped it into the porcelain sink over what he observed in the slightly clouded reflection. He saw himself—less haggard than usual—staring back, greatly startled; a large and angry looking bruise blossomed at the base of his throat, exactly over the area that Ralph blushingly remembered an aggressive mouth. The distinct shape and pattern of the purpled skin could tell even the least worldly person exactly how it got there.

_H-he did it on purpose, that bastard!_ He suddenly remembered with startling clarity the smug look that Jack gave him after finally bringing his mouth away from his neck. Ralph's cheeks flushed with resentment as his eyes traveled to the stained, tender skin. The dark color of the mark was prominent against his steadily paling complexion.

_This is going to be hard to hide_… Ralph thought with growing distress.

_Of course_ it wouldn't go unnoticed by even passing students. His blood drained at the thought of it being seen by the teachers and transient administration through the halls. He would surely get in _some_ sort of trouble. Knuckles whitened as he vigorously cleaned his teeth, fresh energy bursting beneath fuming skin.

He got out of the washroom as quickly as possible, avoiding further glances from the others. As soon as he once again concealed within the safety of his room, he fumbled into the school uniform, again having trouble with the stupid tie. Peering nervously at the small mirror hanging in his room, his mind scrambled, unsure of what the hell he was supposed to do. Breakfast was going to start in fifteen minutes and the top half of the bruise was still visible beneath the collar of his shirt. Quickly making his way to the window, he peered at a couple of students walking about the lawn, towards the main building. Relaxing somewhat at the clammy temperature outside, he noticed some students wearing their scarves.

_Good enough_, he deliberated. Just after shouldering into the blazer, his frantic hand snatched a scarf along with his book bag before finally heading out the door.

…

Ralph was surprised to find that he actually had an appetite this morning, though wasn't exactly thrilled to learn that they were having the spongy eggs and bacon again. He eyed the bacon distastefully. He had long ago sworn off of ever eating anything that came from that horrible animal ever again. And he had been good to his silent vow ever since. His objecting gut, however, forced him to grab some porridge and fruit before turning around to find his seat.

He found Irene sitting by herself at their usual table, almost not recognizing her with her hair down, all loose and tumbling past nimble shoulders. His stomach felt like it had been doing extravagant flips by the time he reached the table. When she saw him, her lips curved into a greeting smile, causing merciless warmth to travel through Ralph's frame. Just as he sat next to her, he was instantly taken aback by her leaning over to quickly peck his cheek.

She was back in her seat before anyone took notice. With quickly enflamed cheeks, her nervous, yet resolute eyes met his, as if she had been working up the courage to do that all morning. Ralph couldn't help feeling strangely pleased before boldly touching a lock of her loose hair, feeling its silkiness between his fingers. He couldn't stop staring at it and resisted the bizarre urge to bury his nose within the soft mass, to inhale the feminine fragrance that it held.

"Your hair," he spoke, almost questioningly as he forced himself to let go, his fingers tapered off towards the ends before releasing it.

"Uh… yes," Irene voiced, her facing heating up even more so as she placed her hands over her lap, looking down at them. "I didn't feel like doing it today."

"I like it," Ralph said, a little too quickly in his attempt to sound casual, trying to mask the odd fixation that was rabidly developing beneath his hot skin. He had no idea that something so common could feel so soft. And no matter how stupid he felt for thinking something like that, the revelation made him see her even more contrarily than he already did. More as an appealing female and less as a simple friend. His skin suddenly tingled, yearning, much like he had the day before. In the crowded room, however, he had to be content with something trivial, and settled to taking her hand closest to him from her lap. Beneath the safety of the table, their burning fingers moved, touching. Irene smiled furtively.

They released their hold and started to eat just as Eric arrived at the table, his face plagued by a glum expression. Ralph didn't even seem to notice that Eric was alone as he continued to eat. Irene, however, looked up immediately towards him, practically feeling the discontentment rolling off of his frame in riotous waves.

"What's wrong, Eric?" Irene asked. "And… where's Sam?"

"That's precisely it," Eric expelled, glowering down at the table. Ralph looked up from his tray at the brittle tone, as if just noticing Eric for the first time. "He's over there with Miss Cleeves." He said her name formally, though as if she were a new classification of scum. It took Ralph a bit longer to realize that he had meant Cynthia—the raven haired girl. Eric spoke again. "And what's more is that I haven't seen him practically all of yesterday and he was gone _all_ _night_."

"All night?" Irene repeated, her eyes widened.

"I hear that she has quite the filthy reputation," Eric muttered, his tone was the most brutal that the blond had ever heard him use. Ralph examined him closely, while Irene blushed.

"Well it's not your choice… so why do you care so much?" Ralph deadpanned. He took a large bite from his apple. Irene looked over at him, suddenly aware that he was actually eating without her constant prompts.

"Because it's _Sam_ we're talking about here," Eric muttered, his expression remained dark. "He would never be stupid enough to fall for a manipulative whore like her. What if she's coercing him?"

"You would know a lot about coercion, wouldn't you?" Ralph blurted without thought, slightly staggered by the rancid bitterness that clung to his words.

Silence.

Ralph's eyes widened just a bit, shocked at the outburst, instant regret filling him. The twin shifted uncomfortably; his face drained of its previous brooding and filtered with humiliation. Ralph turned away, blue-grey eyes briefly hid beneath lids before finally cracking open.

"I'm sorry…" Ralph spoke carefully. "I didn't mean—"

"Yes you did," Eric cut him off. The blond had half expected his voice to reflect the same bitter hurt that he had just revealed, yet the twin's tone wasn't unkind, just quietly beaten. "And I don't blame you… only a saint could completely forgive us." He looked morosely at the table, his eyes slightly misty. "And I'm not asking that of you." One of his tears escaped, which Eric quickly wiped away with an embarrassed grimace.

Now Ralph felt downright awful. Irene only looked on in utter confusion, though soon kept her eyes to her tray, not wishing to intrude. Sighing quietly, Ralph finally stood up and sat right next to Eric. They were silent for a moment longer before his hand tentatively touched the twin's slouched back, slowly moving back and forth, like how his mum used to do when he was little. Though, of course, he was trying to be infinately more discreet about it.

"I'm really am sorry, Eric," Ralph murmured. "It wasn't right for me to have said that…" Before the blond could go further, Eric turned and suddenly threw his arms around him, pulling tight, ardently pushing his face into his shoulder. Ralph tried to fight his immediate urge to peel him off along with the embarrassed flush that rose to his face. He moved uncomfortably against Eric, only half-heartedly pulling away as he hesitantly reciprocated the hug, ignoring the few passerbys that cast curious glances towards them.

"So weak…" Eric sniffled against him, probably getting his shirt wet, Ralph observed as he continued to awkwardly touch his back.

"I know…" Ralph mumbled beneath his breath, sporting a scant glare at a few of the boys at the nearest table that were clearly amused by this display.

"Sorry," Eric's muffled voice rose from his slumped form. At the growing ludicrousness of the emotional breakdown, Ralph's chest vibrated slightly with badly-stifled, somewhat silent laughter. He finally pulled Eric away, regarding the mildly red eyes as they stared back at him. "C'mon, pull yourself together. It'll be fine, alright?" Ralph pulled a small smile for him. Eric managed a reluctant nod.

"Well, well, well… what's going on here?" Roger's voice brought them back to the reality of the excruciatingly crowded cafeteria. Eric's eyes were instantly mortified as he felt a slight tremble sweep through his body, instantly remembering things better left in the dark. Things that usually accompanied that tone of voice.

"I didn't realize you were such a _consoler_, Ralphie. Do you give your _services_ out for free?" Roger's voice was softly mocking as he wore his smug, rapacious grin. From the corner of his eyes he noticed several students turning to now openly stare at the exchange.

"Shut it, Irvine!" Ralph lurched from his seat, instantly up against the instigator. There was no way in hell that he was going to take this from Roger in front of practically the entire school.

The dark teenager's eyes were pleased. His hunter's body began to stir with warm anticipation. "Want me to finish what I started yesterday, little swine? I'd _so_ love to hear you squeal." Roger's soft, throaty chuckle followed. Ralph felt the blood rush to his face as his fists tightened.

To the side of his peripheral vision, he noticed a glint of familiar red. Before he could respond, he felt someone push him back from the dark boy, driving them apart with his body as he stood facing Roger. Of course, it just had to be Jack. _Fan-fucking-tastic_. Ralph's face only reddened even further at the sight of him.

"Are you sodding deaf, Roger? Did you hear or remember anything we talked about?" Jack said, his voice low, eyes glinting. So obviously displeased over the close way that the hangman was looming towards _his_ blond.

Roger frowned at Jack, moving steadily closer to the redhead's stance. "I won't touch him as long as you keep a shorter leash. He's messing with mine. I saw it." He pointed out accusingly, the obviously livid voice grew low.

Ralph only grew more confused and somewhat baffled that the choristers were talking as if they were things, mere possessions. And was Roger referring to Eric? Ralph stole a curious glance at the nearby twin's blanched face as he also viewed the peculiar exchange. He felt his own grow cold.

"I am nobody's _thing_," Came Ralph's vehement protest.

"Stay out of this!" Jack snapped.

"I'm already in this! You're the one that just came in out of nowhere!" Ralph shot back. _Even if I have no bloody clue as to what is going on_…

Just then, society decided to intervene. The cafeteria supervisors finally clued in that there was an escalating problem within the vicinity. A couple of the faculty approached their group.

"I suggest that everyone break this up unless you'd all like to serve a lunchroom detention." One of the male supervisors warned.

Grudgingly, the obediantly silent choristers filed back towards their table on the far side of the room while Ralph once again took his seat next to Irene. There was a lengthy pause while Eric nervously poked at his food and Ralph resumed eating, remembering and finding his appetite before the interruption.

"What was _that_ all about?" Irene finally broke the silence when she saw that no one else was going to do it, her gaze apprehensive as it darted hesitantly between Eric and Ralph.

Trying his best at a casual shrug, the blond felt the unwelcome tension settle between his shoulders. "I'm just about as confused as you are," he muttered, only half lying, as he paid close attention to the table. Eric barely moved and opted to say nothing. Cautiously glancing over at the chorister's table, Ralph wasn't too surprised to see that Jack was staring at him. The intensity at which the chorister leaned forward and through the covetous way that he monitored him, Ralph almost thought that he looked… well… possessive.

His blood immediately boiled at the thought, remembering his soiled neck. "_And this _thing_ that he gave me—what's that supposed to be...?"_ He stabbed viciously at his food.

_Perhaps there was some truth in Roger's words then… or at least that's what they really think of us_, Ralph silently fumed. His eyes narrowed; insides still bristling furiously at being viewed as nothing short of an object—an interesting little game piece, apparently by both Jack and Roger.

"Irene," Ralph said, his eyes were still downcast, idly spooning his porridge against the sides of the bowl. His voice was oddly calm in contrast to the blazing thoughts trudging through his mind.

"Hmm?" She looked up at him, the full view of her brown eyes forcing the nervous flutters to return.

"Um—well—during free time today would you like to go on a walk with me?" Ralph felt suddenly warm with the presence of the slight quiver in his inquiry. Irene small smile steadily grew.

"Well seeing as I didn't have to remind you to eat today, I'll go," she said.

"Uhh… oh," Ralph mumbled, looking down at his nearly eaten tray. Nudging him playfully, her fingers found his hand again beneath the table.

"I'm kidding. I'd love to go with you."

Ralph relaxed; his eyes briefly flickered over to the ginger chorister, satisfied to see that he was still watching. Slowly, with irked purpose burning beneath his flesh, he brought her hand above the table. Irene blushed, though didn't pull away when he casually brought her hand close to his mouth, modestly brushing his lips against her skin before presenting an offhand smile.

_Let him see_.

.

.

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><p><strong>Pffft. Aaand things start to happen... I had fun writing this. Don't forget to feed the muse with reviewscomments/suggestions. They are much appreciated and fiercely loved. ;)**


	8. Sweet Treachery

**A/N: I am so so sorry this took a while. I've been so busy and run over with random RL issues.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing remotely related to LotF.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8 — Sweet Treachery<strong>

_"A shred of hope, a little bit of sweetness – anything please, except for defeat. If I could, I'd lock you up and toss out the key. It's just you and me."_

_-The Hush Sound (Sweet Tangerine)_

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

Ralph felt a small surge of appreciation towards nature and the fact that he could rely on it to be cold every time October rolled around. How dependable. So inanely predictable.

Useless thoughts afflicted his mind as he tightened the scarf over his neck, feeling the unwelcome, tender reminder of exactly how Jack had touched him. A little mark of ownership. Ralph felt an increasing sense of filth with each visitation of the memory over what Roger had implied him to be. And, of course, how Jack had failed to say anything to the contrary.

_Sick bastards_. Ralph noiselessly fumed as he dug chilled hands deeper within his coat. He should have never been so open with Jack. Never should have believed his allegedly sincere words. Internal shivers teased along his spine upon the recollection of his rival's musky, heavy scent. Wetting dry lips, he tried to rid them of the rumination of his sudden, unsolicited taste. One that only served to further blacken his mood.

He waited by the creek that ran near the school, close to town. He had to cross the faculty and student (well, those old enough to have vehicles) parking lot. It looked deserted enough, so he hoped that Irene would get by without any unnecessary hassle. This was the first time that he had technically been off campus without signing out.

The fair-haired teenager leaned precariously against the railing of the bridge over the small creek, heeding the sound of the trickling water and to the carefree breeze as it wafted through deadened trees, stripped of their autumn gold. He despised the in-between stage of autumn and winter, where the world momentarily looked about as cheery as a graveyard. Perfect for the spirit of Halloween, which was fast approaching.

"Ralph!"

He jerked his head towards the parking lot where Irene's voice had drifted through. She hurried towards him onto the bridge, a little breathless. Her cheeks slightly rosy by the numbing autumn air. Like Ralph, she had bundled up a bit with her coat and scarf along with a new pair of leggings beneath her skirt.

"You can really smell the frost in the air," she rubbed her hands together as she moved closer, instantly drawn towards his body heat. "I don't mind, though… I love winter."

"How so?" Ralph asked as he watched her pull herself up from behind onto the bridge's ledge; her feet dangled as she sat, swinging to-and-fro, an almost rhythmic sway with the gentle wind.

"Well—"she began lightly. Ralph came to stand in front of her, her knees barely touching his hips. "You have Christmas, of course… then there's New Year's… and the holiday… and everyone gets to see their families…" She slowed when she tried to think of something else. "… and snow," she concluded with a warm smile, her face the image of childlike satisfaction with her list.

Without meaning to, Ralph shifted closer as she spoke. Seeing this, she scooted back further on the ledge, moving her knees a little wider so that he could stand between them. His hands rested on the wood ledge on each side of her, feeling the dryness of the cracks upon it, laden with parched age.

"I used to like winter," he said quietly; his gaze flickered with slight craving between her eyes and mouth.

"Used to?" She asked. Her hand innocently touched a stubborn tuft of his hair that kept tumbling out of place each time the wind stirred. He paused, distracted, enjoying the way that her light movements caused a fluttering within the pit of his stomach, warming and tensing the muscles within his forearms as he continued to grip the bridge's ledge.

"Yeah… well, it's just me and my dad now… so you could probably imagine what _that's_ like." He shrugged.

"Well you'll be with us for Christmas this year," Irene said, trying her hand at optimism. "Personally, I'm glad. It can get so boring being an only child. And all my extended family members are so… old. There's not much fun to be had there."

"Same here," Ralph said with a small laugh. He paused. "Except they're not necessarily old. They just hate me." Irene's gaze became hard, particularly with the fact that he had just said something like _that_ so carelessly. Like it didn't matter.

"What? Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it's true."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating? Hate's a strong word."

Here, Ralph hesitated, careful thought taking over his expression for a brief moment. "Well, I suppose they don't _hate_ me… but it's still far from being liked."

Irene shot him an incredulous expression; an eyebrow rose slightly. "It can't be _that_ bad. What did you do to them?"

"Nothing."

She sighed, somewhat irritable now. "Well why _don't_ they like you, then?"

Ralph laughed, though there wasn't any genuine humor behind it. "I don't know… because I was born?" He shifted his weight, trying not to notice the brunette's disturbed expression. "My mum wasn't supposed to marry my dad. They eloped. So I guess they disowned her or something… I've never met them."

"Oh." Irene's voice was soft as she lowered her gaze, suddenly feeling terrible for heaving something like that out of him. Sometimes she just didn't know when to stop. When to not cross a boundary when it really wasn't any of her business. The warmth of shame colored her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

Ralph shrugged again, looking every bit unaffected by it. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

Either way, he was a bit distracted.

Continuing his assessment of Irene, he found himself mesmerized by her mouth and how she kept wetting them with the tip of her tongue whenever the cold air became restless, assaulting their exposed faces. They were already fairly close, so he leaned forward. Feeling the weight of his stare, Irene watched, knowing exactly what he was wordlessly asking for. Feeling just a moment's hesitation, she met him in the middle.

When their cold mouths touched, everything around them felt still... unnervingly watchful and terse. The contact was slow. A certain sweetness lined their movements, subtle and warm. A broken, hot breath was shared. Ralph's eager fingers touched her cheek, bringing her in for another. He took her bottom lip between his. Their mouths slanted naturally against the other as it rapidly deepened with every pound of their hungry pulses. A fire was building between them, a heat that felt entirely too uncontrollable and foreign to their vulnerable flesh. Fingers weaved within his hair, pulling as she molded her soft body against the hardness of his; a light waft of lilac fragrance caressed his nostrils. He smiled against her mouth as her response became more enthusiastic as the seconds seeped past. Irene pulled away, feeling his grin.

"What are you smiling about?" she asked, mock offense coating her words. The slight curve of her mouth was giving her away. Ralph exhaled an amused breath before feeling the sudden, strange weight of unexpected seriousness. Surveying the dark eyes staring back at him, her waving hair and soft features. His thumb gently grazed her lower lip that was cold and dry, now warm and moist. As if he had just breathed life into them.

"You," Ralph whispered nervously, feeling the air leak from his lungs as he looked at her. A strangely pleasant, almost painful feeling curled within his chest.

Irene pulled him into a tight embrace, hiding her eyes from him. She felt guilty when she saw _that_ look virtually emitting from him in that moment. Her own suddenly agonized chest constricted. Irene felt simultaneously honored and cursed in that brief moment.

_Why now? Why...?_

Irene gritted her teeth in a pained frown as laid her cheek on his shoulder within their embrace, facing the end of the bridge that lead away from the school.

Ralph, on the other hand, abruptly felt that something was off. Confused and mildly self-conscious, he tested his voice, breaking the stillness. "Irene, are you okay?" Her face tightened when she heard him, though quickly pulled herself together when she brought her neutralized face up as they reluctantly broke their grip upon each other.

"You know… you don't have to call me that…" Irene said. She felt a small spark of amusement in regarding his confused face before speaking again. "Most people call me Rene… well, people I'm close with."

Ralph grinned slightly before trying it out. "Ok, Rene."

"Much better," Irene smiled contentedly, though the grief that struck her seconds ago still pricked her insides and clotted sickeningly within her stomach.

Another gust of wind—which had been steadily growing in strength as time wore on—sung through the atmosphere. It ruffled their hair and pulled at their clothes, aiming to steal the trapped warmth of their clad bodies. Irene crossed her arms tightly about her chest after jumping down from the ledge as Ralph pushed his hands deep within his coat pockets.

"We should be heading back. It's almost time for supper." She sighed, immediately disinclined to return at all. It was nice to have the breaks outside of campus, even if they were brief and not necessarily allowed by administration within their restrictions.

She feared that she would go mad if the Halloween weekend didn't come sooner.

…

Maurice James and Bill Atherton gathered on the edge of the parking lot, close to where their group used to congregate at several times whenever they wished to meet in private. Where they didn't have to act like the choirboy angels that society thought them to be. It felt strange to finally meet as a group again. Strange that it was Jack who had called it after cutting off nearly all contact from them during the summer and part of the beginning school year—even Roger. Bill smacked his gum loudly as Maurice shifted his weight, frequently glancing across the lawn, hoping to catch a glimpse of their former chief and the hangman coming along anytime soon.

Neither commented on the fact that there was now so few of them left.

"Seen Robert lately?" Maurice asked, trying to pass the time.

Bill nodded, his eyes averted. "He's in real bad shape. Something's wrong with him… I dunno what to do, though…"

Maurice looked away, unconsciously gnawing at his lip, though not enough to break the skin. He wasn't sure what had gotten to the others either. The ones that got taken away by the adults… carted away like damaged wares. The kind that no one ever bothered to repair, much less even wanted.

The two straightened immediately, noticing the confident, stalking forms of Jack and Roger. They drew closer to each other; the radiation of their combined body heat grew as they enclosed their small circle. Despite their dwindling numbers, they still held a firm amount of control.

Maurice and Bill unknowingly mimicked each other in their silent, reverence of Jack's appearance, though were disconcerted over the slight disarray of his appearance. There were shadows beneath his eyes—ones that weren't there a few days ago. Regardless, he strode forward with a self-assurance that usually came across as conceited—clearly superior. Roger looked his usual self; his movements penetrating and swift while his expression divulged that he was faintly amused.

They were silent as they acknowledged each other. There were no smiles—no other sign of recognition other than a look of secrecy that passed between their eyes—a dark commonality that they shared—buried deep within the confines of their souls. Some carried it with a seed of concealed smugness, while others simply accepted it with grave simplicity.

Jack looked at each of the remaining stragglers, still feeling an odd sense of responsibility over them, despite the length of time that had passed. And it was with this remembered sentiment that he had Roger gather them together at their old meeting spot.

_It's been so long_… Jack thought as he surveyed the others.

"There's going to be an event," Jack finally stated, not resisting the slight curve of his lip. The others followed suit and reflected their silent encouragement over the idea. They knew their part. They were going to invite a good chunk of the student population.

"About time," Maurice spoke in a quiet voice. He flashed him a grin, showing his teeth. Their tradition of having a get-together to start of the school year had been ignored last month. For a moment, he was starting to think that Jack had finally elected to abandon them.

"When is it going to be?" Bill piped up.

"This Friday. My place. You know what to do." Jack answered, watching their smiles widen. The coming Friday was also this year's designated Halloween—and to have it in Jack's family's venue only made it that much more succulent. Jack had a feeling that there was going to be a large number of students leaving for the weekend to 'see their families', their usual excuse.

Jack eyes lifted, noticing the sky beginning to darken, forgetting that the days were now growing shorter. It was their usual signal that they needed to go. Brief as it was, they broke apart without further words being exchanged. Roger followed Jack's footsteps while Maurice and Bill immediately ambled towards the school. Before following suit, pale eyes were instantaneously drawn to the end of the parking lot where he spotted a shade of pale gold belonging to a certain familiar someone who was also making their way towards the school. Jack nudged Roger, who immediately followed his line of sight, ignoring the shiver of nostalgia that the simple motion had brought.

"What do you want to do?" Roger questioned, his eyes narrowed slightly as his dark eyes scrutinized the former leader. He could tell by the way that Jack's eyes gleamed that he was pondering something wicked. And he wanted in.

Jack felt a tight scowl form on his face when he noticed that Irene Bradley was trudging along with the fair-haired boy. She was too close behind him for his liking. He remembered with vivid detail the kiss that his quarry had given her. Jack was far from naïve. He knew that it was meant for him to see, which is what caused his blood to boil—that his Ralph was even thinking to resist. To fight back.

Instead of showing his true colors in the moment, Jack planted a lazy smile over his sharp features as he silently began to make his way towards the pair, planning to cut them off before they even left the parking lot.

"Follow me," Jack said without turning to face the dark boy behind him. Roger obeyed, moving as soundlessly as his chief; his quickened breath betrayed the excitement that he immediately held for the return of a familiar thrill. One that was exclusively reserved for the hunt.

…

Ralph led the way, listening to the fall of Irene's light footfalls to ensure that she wasn't far behind. Just as they were about to touch the lawn, two sleek, dark figures emerged from behind the car parked nearest to them, effectively blocking off their route back to school.

Ralph and Irene almost visibly jumped as their pulses soared. Irene clasped onto one of Ralph's arms as she kept behind him. Upon recognizing the figures and notable hair colors of Jack and Roger, however, she loosened her grip, feeling instantly stupid at her overreaction as she attempted to come around to stand beside Ralph. She was surprised when he took her hand from behind, forcing her to stay where she was, keeping himself as the only barrier between her and their unexpected visitors. Irene stared at Jack and Roger with their off-hand smiles, feeling more exasperated than frightened by Ralph's impulsive reaction.

His hand tightened almost painfully over Irene's as he glared at them. "What do _you_ want?" His voice was as hard as his frown. The corner of Roger's mouth moved marginally as Jack continued on with his smiling front.

"How have you been, Ralph?" His voice was pleasant and lustrous as he eyed both Ralph and Irene. "We didn't get the chance to properly speak to you after this morning. It would have been so terribly rude of us to have just ignored you afterwards." Jack's smile widened when he saw Ralph's face begin to morph from iron-clad purpose to mild confusion.

"I'd rather have you ignore me," Ralph dryly rebutted.

Jack disregarded his words as he continued. "We would so like for you to come to the party we're having this Friday. It's going to be at my place. You'll find it easy enough—it's hard to miss." He spoke the last part in a sweepingly dismissive manner. He had heard word of these so-called parties that the former hunters occasionally threw—_most likely just to reassert their dominance over the student populace_, came Ralph's resentment riddled thought. Through the rumors, he had heard that they were notorious for students going there just to get wasted for free and to indulge in things that they would probably never do sober.

Jack took advantage of Ralph's moment of blank silence and cocked his head over towards Irene, who had managed to come more into view without Ralph's detection. "Of course… _you_ are welcome to come as well, Bradley." Ralph looked back towards Jack, noticing that his voice changed in the slightest as he spoke to her. It sounded both forceful and held a trace of mechanical sophistication as if he were purposefully mimicking someone. "I'm sure everyone would just _love_ having you there."

Irene peered at the ground, suddenly biting her lip. Ralph oddly felt like the foreign outsider for a moment and immediately detested it. He released her hand and brought his hand behind her, gently touching her back as he brought his eyes to the choristers.

"I don't think we'll be joining you, Merridew," Ralph spoke. Even so, he felt that his rejection for the invite had come out much more civil than how he really would have liked to have refused him.

In that moment, an intense, scathing expression crossed Jack's severe features. It was gone in a moment, but it left Ralph internally shivering with the recollection of the last time he had given him that look. The moment after Piggy's death, launching that spear at him. The moment of intense enmity that had forever left him with a scar. Even so, Ralph refused to back down—even when he was the only one left that had dared to do resist amidst the torched island. He had thought that it was going to be his final act, defending his civility, the fractured morality being cradled with hopeless favor.

The only one that has ever dared to struggle against him… _and he's _still_ the only one that ever has_, was Jack's obtrusive thought. Freezing eyes slid over towards Ralph—a tumultuous mixture of admiration and loathing for the thing that refused to bend—constantly proving its level of stubborn difficulty.

"Well Bradley, what do you say?" Roger spoke up. His expression was so mild, it almost looked playful. A small, unpleasant tingling traveled up Irene's spine as she looked at the dark boy shadowing Merridew.

"I'll have to think about it," Irene muttered. Jack and Ralph both looked at her—Jack with a smile of peculiar smugness while the blond only exhibited a baffled anger.

"Perfect… you do just that," Jack said, his tone silky smooth. "Oh, and Ralph…" Jack said just as he was about to turn away from the pair. Ralph brought his wary gaze towards him.

"You might want to _think_ about it as well... _Think real hard and long_." Jack finished. His smile remained casual, though his blue eyes were as rigid as concrete. Ralph couldn't shake the prickling numbness that gathered over his skin, resenting the fact that Jack was now resorting to making indirect threats. He didn't respond as the two hunters turned and left them.

As soon as they were well across the lawn towards the school, Irene instantly turned on Ralph with blazing eyes.

"Ralph, what's going on? Does this have anything to do with that island?" Her voice was forceful and nearly seemed frightened. Ralph glanced at her, shocked that she had even brought it up. He knew that she must have always known about him being stranded, because of their parents, but she had never brought it up before. It had almost been an unspoken truce between them—something that she must have felt needed to be broken at this point.

Ralph wanted to refute her supposition, maybe even ignore her, but in that moment, looking into her angry, hurt filled eyes, he knew that he could do neither.

"Yes," he whispered. Keeping eye contact, he noticed how visibly her passion slowly left her expression as she continued to stare at him.

"Ralph…" she sighed, lowering her eyes for a moment before reconnecting with him. Her countenance replaced with something serious, ignoring the way that the wind blew her hair across her face. "…I know that you will think that I'm just being overly cautious or protective, but I'm really being nothing but honest when I tell you…" She paused, cursing her tendency to ramble whenever she was under stress. Either way, she had Ralph's undivided attention. His stormy eyes never deviated from hers. So she continued.

"If I were you, Ralph, I wouldn't mess with the Merridews…"

His breathe tethered slightly, observing the grim sincerity and seriousness, as if she were telling him that someone they knew had just passed away. Taking his hand, he was surprised to feel the faint trembling beneath her numb skin. From how much he knew of her so far, he had surmised that she was not a girl that was too easily timid. This alone was what continued to hold his attention. Irene took another earnest breath, carrying on her speech.

"I'm sure that you've had your own experiences with Jack, so I'm probably just telling you something that you already know, but… _that family_ is... well, they're not good people."

"A—are you saying that I should just go and accept his invitation?" Ralph voiced, a creeping anger wringing through.

"No," Irene said. "I'm not suggesting anything of the sort. There's just something... well, odd with the two of you... anyone with half a brain can tell." She said the last part with a small, sullen laugh upon detecting Ralph's incredulous expression over her spoken observation.

"I already told you that our parents are close. I know how they work." Here she looked uncomfortable, kicking the dirt lightly with her booted toe. "If he's a smidgen of what his father is—which I believe he is—"Irene practically spat the word '_father'_, slightly startling Ralph. "—then he will do whatever it takes to get what he wants." Her voice grew feeble in volume, her face now downcast.

Ralph's body heated in growing irritation at seeing the way that she appeared to just accept whatever hidden thing that had blemished her usual resolve. Something that she continued to conceal from him, was his guess. He carefully lifted Irene's chin so that their eyes met.

"You're right... I don't know them. And I promise that I'll be careful with whatever you're worried over… but I refuse to compromise." He brought his face closer to hers, breathing in the scant trace of lilac—reminiscent of the scent worn by both their mothers. He spoke in a low voice, close to a whisper. "Something about me, Rene—"he paused as he brushed his lips chastely against hers. "—I never give up."

Irene didn't have a chance to respond before Ralph's mouth was up against hers once again, harder than before. Ralph felt something warm and wet against his cheek and he instantly withdrew when he realized that it was a tear. He was startled to see that she started to viciously bite her lip before quickly averted her gaze from him, hiding her face.

"What's wrong?" Ralph asked—stunned at her reaction. His fingers gently touched her cheek. Irene moved away from his hand as more tears spilled over. A stinging confusion flooded the blond at her retraction, slightly staggered by the way that his insides suddenly tensed.

"I'm sorry, Ralph. I've been unfair to you." Irene struggled to keep her voice level, despite the fresh onslaught of emotion.

"What—"

She cut him off. "We—we shouldn't be doing this. _I_ can't do this, Ralph." Irene's voice audibly trembled. Ralph, still completely baffled at this sick turn of events tried to reach for her again. She moved further away, giving him one last glance—one of wounded longing before she suddenly turned away. She bolted—began her sprint across the lawn towards the school without looking back.

Ralph stood still, alone within the growing darkness. He was utterly dumbfounded, feeling a fresh wave of an odd sort of ache within his chest. A full minute of immobility passed. The sounds of nightly insects began to waft through the air. Confused and feeling slightly lost within this odd, damaged impact that Irene had left upon him, Ralph began his trek back to the school on his own. His walk now slow and reluctant.

When the main building came into view, Ralph continued forward, missing its doors. The bright lights and the sounds from the dining hall attempted to beckon, though Ralph simply ignored it as he walked straight for the dormitories. He shuffled through the empty hallways. It was unnervingly calm, devoid of any life as he continued on towards his room.

Upon reaching it, he opened the door to his shadowed dorm, briefly rubbing the tight stress from his eyes before flicking on the light. Without looking around, he went straight to his wardrobe as he shrugged out of his coat and loosened his scarf and tie, mindful of the tender, yellowing bruise at the base of his throat. He slowly slid the undone tie out from beneath his collar before opening the first couple of buttons, giving the skin of his neck room to breathe. Ralph grabbed his crumpled towel, now much more in the mood for a numbingly hot shower instead of a meal.

Just as he turned, he nearly collided into someone standing in the middle of his room. Ralph gasped as he dropped his things, his eyes as wide as saucers, and his pulse went through the roof in a millisecond. It took him longer to realize that it was the same redhead that he had seen just minutes ago on the parking lot. Ralph's startled expression took a complete one-eighty, instantly morphed into one of pure rage.

"What's your _problem_? Can't you knock like a normal person instead of creeping up on someone?" Ralph vented, trying to steady himself when he realized just how dangerously alone he was with Jack. Come to think of it, he hadn't even _heard_ the door open… so how did—

His thoughts were interrupted when Jack suddenly drew closer to the blond, his face unmoving, and his eyes were those of a livid hunter's, narrowly surveying potential prey. Ralph instinctively backed away, his body soaring with renewed alarm, though he tried to keep his face straight, as straight as Jack's. Forced into neutrality, Ralph attempted to unconcernedly move around the imposing figure.

Jack stopped him with a quick maneuver of his arm and twisted his body so that the front of Ralph collided against his chest. "Where do you think _you're_ going?" Jack's voice was lowered. Pale eyes threatening.

"To shower… not that it's any of your business," Ralph answered mechanically with eyes that refused to meet Jack's as he continued in his effort to move around him. Jack's arm tightened slightly as he followed Ralph, dangerous fingers trailing across the front of his torso.

"Come _here_," Jack said; his voice vexingly calm and collected. It wasn't a request. Ralph instantly recognized it for what it was and his eyes hardened.

"Get out of my room," Ralph countered as he accidentally backed up right into the wall. Jack was there in a flash, pinning his body with his own, immobilizing him. Ralph's attempts at struggle were futile and he went limp—hoping Jack would back off from him if he refused to give him a proper fight.

Ralph's hard eyes glared as he felt a cool hand graze his face, moving upwards in a slow caress until the dry fingertips met his hairline. Jack continued to appraise, to admire as his fingers moved through the soft hair before dipping back down to his jaw. Jack's thumb brushed against Ralph's lower lip, forcing them to part, revealing a sliver of gritted teeth. Ralph felt his skin prick beneath his touch, sending lovely, dangerous tremors throughout his body with every stroke. The blood drain from his face when he detected not the affection that Jack had displayed before, but an intense possessiveness— one that bordered wrath. It was startling to see him act like this when he was so physically close. It felt inhuman.

"C'mon Ralphie," Jack said, his voice softly mocking. "You were the one that first brought me to your room." He smirked, steadying his voice.

Ralph stared with a blank expression.

When he didn't reply, Jack moved his face with almost feline swiftness towards Ralph's and stopped when their lips were barely touching. Tight fear crawled through Ralph's skin and he tried hard to hide it from the savage before him. Instead of leaning forward ever so marginally to connect with his mouth, Jack stood up a bit straighter so that their noses now touched. The end of Jack's nose lightly trailed down Ralph's cheek as he breathed in his scent. The blatant maleness of the aroma filled his nostrils; forcing his mouth to shamelessly salivate as the violence of desire curled within his body.

Ralph remained motionless as his palms flattened against the wall, completely in the dark of what this unpredictable animal was going to do to him. Jack stiffened when he found what he was initially searching for, his nose picked up the faint, offending odor of lilac along the curve of Ralph's jaw.

It smelled like _her_.

Jack jolted his head back as if it stung, feeling the unwelcome heat of jealousy scorching his insides. Eyes ignited. Against his better judgment, Ralph met the stare, blue-grey eyes insolent. Jack's hands tightened when he saw the wrong expression creep over his prey. Molten lava was pumping through his veins as he roughly pushed the blond up against the wall so that he was now up to his height—their faces level.

Sometimes Ralph forgot just how physically strong Jack was, despite what his slender frame suggested. The ferocious movement startled him and he took a sharp intake of breath; his hair fell into slight disarray across his forehead at the sudden jerking motion of being lifted up against the structure.

The blond waited in uneasy anticipation as Jack continued to stare at him. Hard. Ralph's eyes reflected equal obstinacy… even if he was the one that was thrown up against the wall.

Then, with a sudden and breathy grunt, Jack's mouth forcibly sealed Ralph's. Jack's hand hooked behind his prey's neck, holding his face close and firm. He worked the blond's lips apart before slipping in his hot tongue, savoring his taste and demanding a reaction. When Ralph didn't move, Jack's tongue began to sumptuously explore his mouth, leaving no detail undiscovered. He expertly probed and kneaded Ralph's unresponsive muscle with his own. When their lungs began to burn, Jack broke apart only for a harsh gasp of breath, barely giving Ralph enough time to do the same, before smashing their mouths together for another needy, rough kiss.

_Mine_.

Despite the bold face he put on, Ralph felt irrefutably vulnerable. His head was still spinning from recent events—just one screwed up thing after another. Ralph was sure that he had enraged the head chorister beyond repair and yet here he was… apparently feeling the need to shove his tongue down his throat.

_He just didn't get him_.

And what was worse was that he didn't understand his own reaction to Jack in that instant—sure, he was upset that redhead had barged into his room and was still infuriated, but his body never felt so hormonal, so overheated in the physical rawness of his movements.

It only took a moment—a split second for Ralph's rationality to slip before he fell, much like during the savage dance that ultimately took Simon's life. He was pulled in and felt only his own unrestrained instinct—to satisfy, to take. In that moment, his body burned and wanted. Useless arms came to life. One crept up and gripped Jack's strained bicep while the other flung behind him, pulling their hard bodies together with hot urgency, tight and close. Ralph shuddered, a frightening amount of lust pulsing through his body, at the contact.

His tongue sprang to life and he pushed hard against Jack's invading muscle. Taking the hunter by surprise, the attack was a quick success. Reveling in this momentary switch of oral dominance, he tasted the inside of Jack's mouth for the first time. The blond was surprised that he didn't smile, laugh, or show any sign of gloated amusement that he was actually responding to him. Instead, he crudely grunted, not liking the lapse of power, as he violently pushed back on Ralph's tongue. Some things never change.

Ralph swiftly pulled away, ending the wet, terrifying encounter. Their darkened eyes locked, heavy breaths filling the silent room. Their enflamed mouths were glistening. Impatient for more, Jack viciously pulled on the front of Ralph's shirt, dragging him up towards him before forcing their mouths together once more. Their abused lips, sharp teeth, and hot tongues seemed to be everywhere at once. Not even a millimetre of reachable skin was safe from the spiteful onslaught. Ralph's arm wrapped hard behind Jack's neck and moved his mouth as fiercely as he could against his.

Their movements were irresistible, uncontrollable, and rough.

_Savage_.

The occasional reverberations of Jack's harsh breath filled the air between their abrasive kisses as he poured both his unrestrained want and hatred into them. They were both trying to brutalize the other more—the raw amount of power and fight igniting the air between them disoriented all rational thought. Jack was well aware of the fact that he had always preferred being rough—though in this baffling, unexpected moment, he found that he had never been more turned on in his life.

Quick fingers pulled at Ralph's tucked, collared shirt from the constraint of his pants. His hand delved beneath the cloth of the dress shirt the instant it was released, savoring the feel of the smooth feel of skin beneath. Jack released a breathy noise as his hand quickly ventured up between the indent of Ralph's shoulder blades. The edge of his shirt followed his hand, exposing the entire expanse of the blond's back to the air, which Jack's hands now reveled, his nails dragged lightly up and down. His hips brutishly rocked against him. Jack's eyes closed in the physical euphoria, losing himself in the warmth and texture of the skin beneath his fingers. Oh god—he _had_ to fucking have him.

Ralph's breath labored as he pulled away from Jack's incessant mouth. Aversion simmered within his chest towards the intimate feel of Jack's hands as they moved against the sensitive skin of his back, creeping upwards until they delicately caressed the area between his shoulders. This he wouldn't have. Not the tenderness. Not the softness.

"No," Ralph shuddered; his voice trembled with feeble protest.

His knees felt pathetic, his body suddenly drained as they simultaneously lowered to the ground. A short struggle ensued before Jack forced himself on top, softly pushing Ralph's back against the cool, wooden floor. Jack heatedly glanced at Ralph's conflicted face before quickly driving ravenous fingers beneath the front of Ralph's shirt, his palms flat against his stomach. Hands moved up his chest with sensual slowness as he pushed the fabric up towards his prey's neck, revealing more tantalizing, pale flesh. Ralph observed the way that Jack eyed him with a violent hunger. He bit his abused lip when he felt the fingers beginning to explore the uncharted expanse of his torso.

Jack's head dipped lower, bringing his wet mouth to the exposed skin. Ralph's teeth sunk even deeper into his fleshy lip to stop the whimper from escaping when he felt the warm slickness of Jack's tongue, tracing through the natural indents of his body. He only continued, placed scorching, kisses, sucking, and licking lower and lower until he reached the delineation of an exposed hip. His teeth sank into it, eliciting a surprised gasp past Ralph's lips. The redhead's firm hand crept up until it pressed tightly over the area of his heart. Ralph's pulse quickened, causing an instant bout of unsteady want.

Then, without warning, everything was coldly dispelled when he felt Jack stop. Something odd crossed his expression as the pressure behind his fingers completely faded. Ralph wondered what he was looking at until he felt one of Jack's fingers touch a familiar path along his chest, a path that he tried hard to forget. It wasn't a touch inspired by lust, but rather of cold examination, like a doctor's hand. Ralph quivered and turned his face away when he felt Jack complete his journey across his diagonal scar, his jaw now taut.

"Ralph… is that…?"Jack's husky voice was amazingly coherent, despite what they had just been doing. Ralph took advantage of his moment of lax and roughly pushed him off. He pulled down his shirt, hiding the defiled skin, as he sat himself up. Jack landed on his backside none too gently, though he continued to stare at Ralph, an unreadable expression resting over his face.

"Yes," Ralph answered in a harsh whisper. Fresh shame coating his face as his senses were slowly returning to him, suddenly humiliated with what they were doing and who he had become for that short while. He had sworn to himself that he would never be something like that again.

_I'm so sorry, Simon…_ Tears threatened and pricked at his dry eyes, but he held them off. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek until the iron tang of blood filled his mouth, masking the taste that he wanted to forget. The pain consoled him.

Jack stood as he righted his clothing, running a hand through disheveled, rusty hair. Ralph stared at the wall, refusing to look at him.

"I hope you change your mind about Friday," Jack acted as if they had just concluded a study session. He spoke in an unruffled and refined fashion. As if all of _that _was so utterly normal. Ralph remained still as he sat on the floor, his expression becoming more vacant as the swollen stillness wore on.

Jack appeared to be making his leave before he stopped at the door, suddenly remembering something.

"Before I forget…" Jack's jaw tightened with a primitive intent as he turned back towards the blond. He crouched so that they were at eye level with each other, even though Ralph attempted to turn his face to the side. Jack's hand reached out, taking Ralph's chin and brought his face towards his. He didn't miss the way that Jack's eyes were like that of burning ice as he shrewdly scrutinized him.

The whiff of the lilac-scent upon his prey was quickly turning into a recurrent nuisance, already turning over and over his officious mind. He didn't share. _And he never would_, the redhead silently asserted.

"You should go and take that shower..." Impulsively, Jack pressed his possessive mouth against the exact stretch of jaw where he had caught the fragrance from before. The flat side of his teeth grazed softly over the skin before he just as quickly retreated. He stood, walked across the room and opened the door. Ralph stared at Jack's receding figure, with perplexed eyes. He said one more thing before melting into the shadows of the empty hall.

"I don't ever want to catch you smelling like that again."

The door clicked softly shut.

.

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><p><strong>Thoughts? Comments? Critique? (;<strong>


	9. Kill with Silence

**A/N: Yesh! I finally updated. And in time for Halloween too. I'm sure you're all in serotonin bliss with all that Halloween chocolate. (Or just quivering with an unnatural sugar high, heh. jk.) Sooo, hope you all had a good one. Thanks so much for all the reviews! You're all so utterly fantastic and I can't wait to get another chapter up for all you wonderful people.**

**Disclaimer: LotF is not mine. Just so you all know. x)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 9 — Kill with Silence<strong>

"_It sucks to be alone, even when there are people all around you."_

_-Scrubs_

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><p>.<p>

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"I can't believe you're actually going!"

Ralph nearly jumped from his seat, the feeling of betrayal crept repellently within his already churning stomach. He had woken this morning with the heavy sensation of nausea, as thoughts of what had transpired between him and Jack the evening before passed through his troubled, stressed mind. Since then he had been in a perpetual state of feeling ill. Most of the food on his tray remained untouched, a quiet testament to the sense of inner filth.

Eric stared blankly at the table, his grip on the edge tightening. His face paled a few degrees at Ralph's indignation; it almost felt like he had already let him down after pining so passionately for pardon. He looked up; a sudden impression of fortitude solidifying his features. "I—I don't have a choice. Sam will be there and Roger, he—"Eric paused, as if forcing down the rising bile that threatened to burn his throat. "—he threatened him."

Ralph's rigid expression remained, though he pushed himself to calm down enough so that he could sit back at the table, his fists still clenched upon his lap. "Roger?" His voice came with forced tranquility, swallowing his resentment that strained to escape his lips.

Eric nodded when he saw that he had Ralph's listening ear. "Sam doesn't know, though… that Roger's angry with him, I mean." Here he bowed his head, as if speaking to a priest, confessing his most awkward sins. "Roger came to me with threats… of what he was going to do to him."

The thickness of the air between them settled as Ralph crossed his arms tightly, his eyes clearly incensed over this new vial of information. He thought and processed this as he stared without seeing.

Eric licked his dried lips, eyes nervously flashing between Ralph and his tray of food, unsure of what to do, so he continued. "I think it's because of Cleeves… I don't think Roger likes that they've practically been glued to each other since the beginning of the school year." A cloud of misery hung over his eyes.

"Hmph," Ralph sighed. He felt the same pain from last night caused by Irene's odd rejection flitter within his gut, instigating an internal cringe. So it seems that the hunters don't like it when they give their attention away to others. _Or at least to anyone that isn't them_, Ralph thought as a surge of fresh rage heated his insides, though his expression remained unmoved.

"I don't like this. I don't like what they've been doing." Ralph muttered as he mindlessly poked at his mushy food.

"I'd only be going to make sure nothing happens to him," Eric interjected softly, mentally building his case in order to properly present it before his former chief. "I already tried to talk Sam out of going, but he insisted that there was nothing that I could say that could change his mind. He said that he wanted to go because _Cynthia_ was going." Eric's face muddied upon saying her name. "I didn't really want to argue… we haven't fought in so many years… and… I don't want to start now…" He finished as a rather crestfallen guise crept over his features.

Before Ralph could respond, a vision of the same brunette girl from the night before came into view, causing his heart to liven, to beat so hard against his chest that he could feel it oscillate throughout his entire body. He forgot his next thought entirely as he brought his face up from Eric. Irene caught his regard and held it with her own. Excitement trickled through his body at her slightly softening gaze, even if it was marred by the presence of former apprehension, born only a night ago.

Hesitation rested briefly over her face before she seemed to have made up her mind. She walked towards their table and sat next to him. Ralph tried and failed to stifle the elation within his smile. Eric quieted when he saw that they were no longer alone and began to concentrate on his unappetizing tray of food.

"You should be eating," Irene mumbled as she settled into her seat, her eyes sliding over to Ralph's unscathed tray, disapproval illuminating her eyes. Ralph felt a wave of comfort from the small return of her old self as he tastelessly spooned whatever it was on his tray into his mouth. He still had no idea what it was as he swallowed.

"Rene," He whispered, leaning towards her. She cringed a little, as if she had just been pricked. "I need to tell you something."

She looked over at him, reflecting only her peculiar sadness and guilt. "Ralph—"she started before he viciously cut her off, not wanting to hear her retraction from him for a second time. His stomach warped uncomfortably at the thought.

"Please hear me out… We can meet in secret after school." Ralph spoke in a low, quiet voice as he stared at the table, stressing the word so that she got the hint.

"O—ok" Irene relented, a slight stumble within her speech. A blush faintly brushed her cheeks before it just as quickly faded. He allowed a small smile as he shoveled more of the bland gruel into his mouth.

The rest of breakfast passed rather uneventfully with the exception of a couple of knowing glances being passed between Ralph and Eric, their unfinished conversation hanging densely within the air between them. Classes were monotonous and Ralph was only itching to escape them as the day carried on.

When the last dismissal bell finally rang, he cautiously began making his way past the throng of students as they all rushed towards whatever activity they had in mind after school. His eyes searched, almost accusatory in nature as he made his way towards the secret grove. The last thing he needed was to have any of the hunters stalk him to the very spot that Irene had entrusted him with. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he plunged within the trees. He managed to take a small detour before finally relenting and emerging within their secret spot, almost feeling the burn of unfriendly eyes upon the back of his neck, despite the caution.

He waited. His hands strained fretfully within his pockets as he thought of what he was going to say. Words became tangled messes within his mind and his breath came in short, nervous fits as he constantly shifted his weight, taking out his stress on the overgrown grass. Before long, Ralph's gaze shot in the direction of shaken foliage. His pulse rose slightly. Irene's hand appeared, swatting agitatedly at the branches as she wriggled her way in through the narrow passage that the close knit trees allowed.

"Hey," Ralph said immediately as he drew closer, all previous plans of subtlety thrown out the window. His eyes shone brightly, causing a bit of the hopeful excitement to leak into Irene's dull mood. She smiled at him, a genuine gesture, softening her mouth.

Acting on impulse, knowing that they were free from the prying eyes of society, she threw her arms around him and held his body against hers tightly. Her arms crossed over the expanse of his back as he wrapped his arms about her frame without hesitancy. While confusion continued to plague Ralph's mind with Irene's strange, conflicting behavior, he savored the moment, bringing his face down into her hair, nuzzling his nose into her silky locks like an overly-affectionate dog. He could smell her forbidden lilac and immediately buried himself within it, closing his eyes.

Irene visibly slackened her form against his, enveloped protectively within his masculine scent, both thrilling and calming her turbulent nerves. She felt him pull away, much to her discontentment. He didn't move far from her as he waited for their gazes to connect.

"Um," He anxiously rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to remember what he was going to say. Irritable with his suddenly blank mind, he continued, taking the spontaneous route. "So… I felt that I must have offended you in some way last night…" Irene took a breath as if to say something, but was stopped by Ralph's pleading eyes. She tightly sealed her lips.

"I honestly don't know what I said or did. I know that sometimes I can be rather dense and say things that I don't really mean…" _Wow,_ _this sure is fluent_, his mind jeered. He swallowed with great difficultly. Ralph tried to ignore it as he forced more words from his mouth. "I'm new at this… So, I hope that you can forgive me for whatever I did or said… and I'll try not to repeat it."

The whole while, Irene was trying her best not to interrupt him, not to smile. His presentation felt so impromptu, so innocently ardent, that the corners of her mouth automatically lifted. When he finished, she couldn't stop the small laugh that had escaped her lips. Ralph tilted his head slightly in further confusion, golden hair shifting in the breeze. Completing the picture of how endearing he was being in that moment, Irene shifted quickly forward and pressed a firm, surprising kiss against his mouth before tracing a feather-light trail down his jaw. She moved back, smirking at the stunned, though somewhat pleased look upon his face.

"I'm sorry, but I had to… you were being cute." Irene laughed softly at his abruptly vexed expression at being called such. Her face took a serious turn as she remembered what exactly they were talking about.

"And… you don't need to apologize for anything. Honestly, it's me that ran off. You didn't do anything wrong." Irene spoke as she peered down at their feet, the toes of their shoes centimeters apart amidst the grass.

"If anything, it's me who should be apologizing," Irene took a slow breath. "I just feel awful about… well, in a way, I feel like I'm leading you on when I shouldn't be."

Ralph's breath hitched in slight alarm over her statement. "Is… is there someone else?" The very idea of there being another guy made his blood boil in a way that he had never felt before. It made his skin crawl with a sudden and vengeful itch. He averted his eyes with a tightened jaw.

"No! Oh, God no." Irene said quickly. "It's just that… I might not see you after school. I might be sent away…" Her fingers lifted and trailed over Ralph's hand, her light fingertips tickled his palm and he immediately closed his hand, griping them in the process.

"Is that all?" Ralph asked, raising his brows. He almost felt like laughing his relief, now feeling absurd over the possibility of something serious. Irene looked at him, her brows knitted together slightly, as if irritated at this graceful acceptance.

"No that's not _all_," she spoke, her normally gentle brown eyes hardened. "But that's all I'm telling you. You don't need details. Just know that you might not ever see me again after school."

Ralph's face loosened, his eyes were slightly downcast as the toe of his shoe halfheartedly moved loose soil. "You don't know that. Things can change."

A sad smile adorned Irene's features as she lifted Ralph's head, both of her hands rested carefully at the sides of his face. Grey-blue eyes looked back at hers, apprehensive… waiting…

"You know what, Ralph? Let's forget about this…" She drew her face close to his, her designated look of familiar defiance creeping slowly into her eyes. Ralph's breath became tight and heavy, his eyes widened. "Let's concentrated on what's now… I don't want to remember only how I worried away my last days. I at least want to remember something pleasant before I'm to be locked away." She chuckled quietly at his sudden look of bewilderment. One of her hands buried within his gilded hair, her body thrilled at the feel of it between her fingers.

"I'm just kidding," she whispered; though a hint of melancholy lingered.

Thoughts quickly ceased and Ralph's heart thudded heavily when Irene pulled his face down to hers, softly molding her lips against his. He pulled in close, a hand quickly finding the back of her neck. Ralph lost his breath, their kiss breaking unexpectedly, when he felt Irene's hands suddenly grip his shoulders and pulled herself upwards, crushing their bodies together. They shared a shaking gasp as they toppled over onto the forest floor; Irene bent the unruly, long grass as Ralph's body followed. Their breathy amusement over their eagerness quickly dissipated the moment they regained composure. He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. Light shivers played over his skin, faintly detecting the heavy array of longing within her brown eyes.

The thick vapors of reverie that had quickly built around them shattered in an instant with a single blood-curdling scream. It pierced straight into the pair's rapidly pumping hearts as they pushed away from each other and scrabbled to their feet.

Ralph nearly stumbled with sudden vertigo upon standing, though his darkened, alarmed eyes shot in the general direction of the sound. He could only hear Irene's harsh breath as they stood still, listening for a moment, though no more came. They exchanged startled, somewhat doubtful glances. With unspoken treaty, they left the small clearing.

Their footing was hardly quiet, despite their best efforts. Even the slightest stirring amongst the cold, long-dead leaves sounded like the crackling of an overeager fire. Just as they reached the abrupt halt of the tree line before stepping out into the exposed field before the school, Ralph reached over to clasp Irene's arm and yanked her hard against one of the trees. The movement was so quick, so urgent that Irene immediately babbled a protest. Ralph muffled her speech with his hand as he flattened himself against her. The bark bit unmercifully against her back with this added pressure. Her eyes above his oppressive hand flooded with nasty anger until she noticed Ralph's expression. It was of pure attentiveness as he peered around her, staring fixedly at something out on the lawn. Her hand came up and clawed silently at his until it gave away, the pressure alleviated from her mouth.

Irene turned her head, following Ralph's hardened line of vision. Out upon the field, bathed in the subtle golden light of the October sunset, was a dark figure. He slipped like a shadow towards the school, his legs quick and silent.

After he was out of sight, Ralph backed away from Irene, his face paled, though not with the slight trepidation that she felt towards the whole bizarre situation, but with a cold resentment—a kind of anger that she had never seen on him before. Irene's insides shuddered slightly.

"Who was that? Did you see?" Irene muttered, her quiet voice sounded thunderous in the oppressive stillness that had followed.

"Roger…" Ralph responded with a callused whisper, his critical eyes never leaving the spot where they had just seen him dart away. Just then, in a quick second, his eyes tempered as he turned to survey the surrounding woods. His mouth opened slightly, as if to voice a troubling thought, though seemed to think better of it before tightening his jaw.

With nothing further to do, Irene and Ralph began to make their way over towards the school as well. No more words were exchanged, though Irene couldn't help but to glance towards her blond companion every once in a while, almost half expecting him to divulge some of the turbulence that was so clearly brewing inside his mind.

He never did. His mouth remained a tight, thin line, clamped in forbidden silence.

Ralph was even quiet all through dinner. Eric and even Sam had decided to join them, though Irene could tell by the slight redness of their faces and stoic expressions that they currently weren't getting along. The tension between them simmered the cool air. A quick surveillance of the room divulged that Cynthia was absent, explaining Sam's unexpected presence back at their table.

Only once did Irene manage to smile at Ralph, catching his eyes, to which he responded with a forced one of his own. The rest of their time together was monotonous, yet almost as strained as the air between Sam and Eric. They said their respectable good-nights before departing, leaving Irene feeling peculiarly tense—wondering just exactly what was going on.

Ralph found his way quickly to his room, avoiding the mass of boys as they talked, laughed, and made their way through the halls. Upon reaching his room, he snatched shower things before hastily making his way towards the washroom.

Even beneath the hot water as it dribbled over closed lids and down his body, the tension refused to leave—the severe impression, the gruel, dripping stain that Roger's presence within the woods had left upon his mind. It mocked him, taunted his dark curiosity. _What the hell was he doing there? And what _was_ that god-awful scream? _He had never even heard him scream before—wasn't even particularly sure if he was even capable of something so human.

_No, it couldn't have been him… It sounded younger._

Ralph scrubbed at his body harder than was necessary, absorbed with agitation, burning for release teeming querulously within his frame. By the time he broke from the mental tirade, his hand reached blindly for the shower nob, twisting it off. Only after the sound of the water pelting the hard tiled floor had ceased, did he realize just how quiet it had gotten within the washroom. Ralph's ears strained for any familiar clamor of the others as he toweled himself.

Nothing. Not even the sound of mindless dull, shuffling that he had involuntarily grown used to over the past month.

Pulling boxers on with an uneasy haste, he snatched the rest of his clothes as he began to leave, opting to finish getting ready in his room instead of the suddenly cold, calm washroom. He had nearly made it out of the door before he was greeted by a shadow, leaning luxuriously against the wall alongside the entrance, arms limply crossed. Roger. Of course.

Ralph's heart soared into that of a vulnerable pace, though he tried not to betray the acid apprehension that now flourished. Trying his best at keeping a straight face, his eyes quietly found Roger's, disconcerted to see the dark gaze already upon him.

Roger aligned, pulling himself away from the wall, almost gracefully as he stalked closer, deadened eyes never leaving the pale image before him. His face was as emotionless as a wax doll—all smooth with an unsettling emptiness. Ralph frowned at his mental comparison as he drew closer.

"What are you doing?" The blond quietly voiced; his tenor dry.

The other only stared in response, though a lone corner of his mouth lifted marginally. It certainly didn't take long to notice the patterns, the schedule of a person. To know their habits. All he needed to do was watch and wait. His line of sight lowered slightly, sliding with deft smoothness down to his half unclothed front before making his visual trek back up to his face. He could see why Jack wanted him… but the simple observation did little to sooth the reservations he held over the altogether obvious fixation.

"I want to know what you're up to…" Roger said. The edges within the blunt declaration were softened and glossy; a honeyed tenor. Sugar, however, never did mix well with rancid things—like a horribly sweetened cough syrup. Especially towards one that had already tasted how acidic the bile truly was beneath the smokescreen.

Ralph bristled, though he couldn't help the openness of surprise as it faintly contorted his features. A short, sardonic laugh escaped him, echoing mildly in the tiled room. "You think _I'm_ the one who's up to something?"

The dark hunter observed, gauging Ralph's reaction with a guarded eye before moving closer. Closer still—until their faces were matched at an uncomfortable distance. This, Roger preferred. It made it easier to force the target into less ease, especially when they had yet to be broken—like an unbridled horse that never knew the pain and will of a harsh hand.

"I know you are. And it won't take long to find out what it is." Roger had to hold back a smile, lest he wanted to ruin the moment. Even if Ralph was insinuating the truth and he didn't harbor less attractive motives, it would still be fun to mess with his mind. And it was then—and only then that he remembered Jack's tasteless words. He _couldn't_ play with him—it wasn't fucking allowed. Roger internally scowled as he retracted from Ralph, yielding his disciplinary gaze, drawing back at a normal distance. He looked every bit like a sour puss that had forcibly relinquished its thrashing, captured mouse.

Confusion passed over Ralph's eyes as his mouth surrendered to silence. It was prolonged before he finally broke away from it. Back on task. "You need to leave the twins alone," the blond said, trying to keep his teeth from clenching.

Roger looked back at him; sudden amusement gleamed within his dark eyes. "Right. If you say so. You know how you've always had _such_ an impact on me…" His speech was flat, though the sarcasm unambiguously bled through. A leer protruded from an otherwise hollow face.

"You're sick. You're both sick." Ralph muttered. "This isn't a game. Even if you think it is, then you're the only ones. We don't want any part of it."

Roger chuckled. The sound resonating against the tiles. "You're already in this, Medevane… and so are they. We've been playing for a long time now… even if you've yet to realize that." Here, Roger relished a smile, a dirtied expression on his face as he loomed closer to the blond, his voice low.

"And it's never going to end. You're going to take this _game_ to the grave—we all are." The way he nearly spat the word 'game' made Ralph not think of it as one at all. More like an affliction, and for a fleeting moment, he knew exactly what Roger was talking about and could almost sympathize. Just as quickly, however, his rational, societal mind shook away at the glistening web of his words, only serving to baffle the blond even further.

Two sides of the same coin that would never come to terms. They would never understand the other. And Ralph felt that he had both of them on the inside, nearly full grown presences, always divided, always waging war—tearing him up amidst the grueling process.

Roger observed him, though when Ralph looked back, Roger's expression withdrew, leaving behind only his notorious mask—calm and hardened to the point of forcing the observer to doubt that he was even of flesh and blood.

"Perhaps I'll see you later. Tomorrow's Friday, after all." Roger's voice softened, though remained its monotonous self as he opened the door of the washroom. He threw back one last, vacant glance before leaving Ralph behind.

Ralph raced after him, flinging open the washroom door before his rapid eyes scanned the hallways. He was gone. As if he had simply vanished. Ralph forced himself to breath after finding that he had stilled his lungs somewhat—as if they would interrupt the strange moment. And still living within that moment, he was unsure if he felt more agitation or relief at Roger's sudden departure.

Gripping the lump of his clothes and damp towel, he strolled back towards his room. A sullen mood trailed close behind. Heavy. Suffocating.

Upon opening his door, he was shocked to see an altogether familiar someone lounging lavishly upon his wrinkled, made bed. One long arm was tucked beneath his ginger head as he lay upon the pillow; the other was holding a white piece of paper up close to his prowling eyes. Ralph stood still. Mouth was slightly agape and eyes enflamed at the sight before him. "What the—_ugh_, can't I go ten _fucking_ minutes without seeing either one of you?"

Jack lowered the letter from his pale gaze as he lazily surveyed Ralph, as if _he_ were the one intruding his room. The gaze instantly roughened as he raised himself from the bed. He spoke, a blend of subtle humor and enticement. "Trying to bait me already? And you've only just arrived…" His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. The predatory grin was already set in place as he finally stood from the bed. "You should know by now how I get when I see you so… upset." Hungry eyes glittered upon the exposed skin as he drew near, pale fingertips already making light contact with Ralph's stomach.

Ralph felt the intensity of hot blood rushing to his face and the instant throb of embarrassment as he struck the forward hand away. Walking further into the room, he gained much-needed space between them, quickly dragging the shirt over his head. Jack made a low sound of passionate disapproval as he came up behind the blond, pressing the front of his torso tightly against Ralph's back. Persistent hands snaking around his lower stomach; fingers skimmed the line of tantalizing skin, revealed as the edge of his recently placed shirt hitched slightly.

Ignoring the shivering goosebumps as they erupted over the plane of his skin, Ralph wretched himself away from Jack's hold, twisting so that they now faced each other. "_Why_ are you here?" Ralph spoke in a harsh tone. He scrutinized the disgruntled, crumpled sheets of his bed as well as his father's scant letter now thrown carelessly amidst the covers. Looking back at Jack, his eyes narrowed. "And _why_ are you going through my things?"

The redhead smirked lightly. "Sixteen now?" Ralph didn't respond, only growing more irritated at his blatantly ignored questions. Jack shadowed closer, now smoothly taking the blond's jaw between gentle fingers. Instead of resisting, Ralph fixed Jack with a punitive stare—his eyes like two pieces of jaded, colorless crystal.

"I want you to leave," Ralph spoke before the hunter could move in closer to seal their mouths. His voice was as hard as his regard suggested. Jack paused, though didn't move away. Seductive lips were close and appealing as they curved amusedly.

"That's what you always say… but it's so clearly not what you want." Those lips spoke and Ralph was surprised with how hard it was to concentrate with their proximity. So he removed them. Ralph shoved him away, not aggressively, but hard enough to enforce distance. Jack didn't seem to repel, though that infuriating smile never left his face. All too self-assured. The blond grumbled softly before even trying to speak again.

"I assume that you have a room… so make use of it and stop coming here. And… _this_ needs to stop." Ralph paused, unsure of what _this_ even was. Fooling around? He didn't know… though from the look igniting Jack's face, it seemed like he knew very well what _this_ was. It seemed like he knew excruciatingly well and it didn't sit well with the blond. All he knew was that whatever _this_ thing was, it was severely starting to mess with him—body and mind.

"Why deny yourself?" Jack laughed, though Ralph couldn't tell if he was truly mocking him or just entertained by the whole situation and maybe even confused at the notion of self-denial. Either way, his blood simmered.

"This is wrong," Ralph said. Jack suddenly frowned, lips thinning. There was a method to Ralph's voice in that moment that he had always loathed with a barbed vehemence. It reminded him too much of a time and place years ago—back when he was the boy with the conch. Words ringing from him with self-conviction—one that he had so faithfully adopted as his own from the world of adults that had once been so blissfully separated from them. One of very few that held onto it so dearly.

And he obviously still did. To an extent…

"Still putting on that pathetic display, are we?" Jack spat his words, disgust teeming beneath his very skin. "You still pretend. Pretending to be something you're not. Pretending that this world still wants you."

Ralph bit at his inner cheek until familiar pain flooded his senses, though he continued to regard Jack as much as he didn't want to. He was slowly getting more used to the sudden fluctuations within his mood. He was always black or white, seething or cold. It was very rare to find a steady, middle ground. The best the blond could do was to sway with the violent tide, unresisting in a way that didn't force the waves to hit harder. Harder until resolve finally broke.

There was silence. A pause laden with the pregnant swell of tension. In the stillness, Ralph thought of Roger and his cryptic smile, of his promise involving the twins. And he knew in that moment that he was still in the thick of things… whether he liked it or not. The hunters made sure of that. He knew that he couldn't pretend, couldn't look the other way when he knew (or at least partially knew) of Roger's intentions.

"I'll go… to your party…" Ralph whispered. He didn't have to look to know that the other was pleased. Ralph felt his jaw tighten; the muscles within his arms grew taut as he folded them over his chest. "But I'll only go… if you leave right now." He lowered his eyes to the floor, turning away from the chorister, so that he could only make out his blurry form within his peripheral vision.

Jack paused, processing this as his eyes indulged in one more sweeping once-over before turning. He had nothing to lose… so he silently took up on Ralph's offer. Triumph bloomed warm and bright beneath the constraint of his chest as he made his slow, definite departure.

Ralph waited several seconds after the closing of his door, waited for what seemed like an eternity before he could breathe normally, allowing his chest free reign to rise and fall. His hands rubbed against his arms, instantly feeling the unwelcome chill of the empty room. The quietness and seclusion left only a bitter taste. And yet, it's what he had asked for.

He never did derive comfort from solitude.

He wasn't sure if he ever could.

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><p>.<p>

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**I've actually been working really hard on the next chapter already. So, that should be coming up soon. Thanks a ton, you lovely readers. If you have time, drop a review. They are very much appreciated.**


	10. Tricks and Treats

**A/N: Well, here it goes. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own LotF. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 10 — Tricks and Treats<strong>

"_Now I lay me down to sleep, a bottle of vodka at my feet. If I shall die before I wake, tell my friends I drank it straight."_

_-Unknown_

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

Jack approached the much-too-large doors of his home, barely noticing the way that a peculiar, yet all too familiar vacancy ricocheted across its well-manicured lawn. The estate's pristine grandeur disgusted him in a way that few could comprehend. Outsiders always made stupid comments on how perfect his life was—how privileged and well-brought up he appeared to be.

And what was his response? Fucking people didn't know a damn thing, even if it hit them hard and reckless up the arse. No—instead they preferred to admire the pretty image before them instead of the bleeding reality—dripping its impenetrable aroma of decay. The unwanted reminiscence of that particular scent forced his fingernails to delve accustomed grooves into numb palms. There wasn't anything that irked him more than ignorance. Commonly misperceived as stupidity. Jack didn't care. He thought the two principles went hand in hand. Probably why he hated children so much. They were stupid _and_ ignorant.

Nothing short of a poisonous frown formed over his mouth as he plunged the worn key into the lock of the front door. It clicked.

Ignoring the entryway and numerous passages—the maze of lifeless rooms that he had once gotten lost in as a small, _stupid, ignorant_ child—he made his way over to the kitchen, hardly mindful of the cook as she prepared a pot of something over the stove. Ripping open the fridge, his hard gaze scanned the contents. Full as always. Even if there were only two people living in the monster of a home aside from the housekeeper, cook, and handful of other employees. Living was a loose term for even that. This was more like their pit stop. Their flashy display of good fortune.

"Where's Patricia?" Jack spoke to the air as he selected a cider, elbowing the fridge shut. He continued to stare ahead, barely acknowledging the worker as she labored. The craggy, perspiring face peered over at him, small eyes clouded with age. Cigarette damaged lips thinned tightly.

"_Your mother_—"the woman's voice rattled, lined with barely-smothered irritation as she attempted to correct his title. "—is out for tonight." How utterly, fantastically surprising. "She's had something prepared for you." Jack could only assume that she meant whatever was in the pot. The bridge of his nose creased slightly as he worked the top from the bottle. Chuckling without any real humor, he brought it to his lips.

"How precious," he mumbled. So Patricia actually felt maternal for a moment before leaving for another one of her profligate events. Nothing changed after the island. All Patricia Merridew did was quit her useless daytime job, claiming that she wanted to spend more time with him. Time progressed and Jack only displayed his fantastic ability to utterly ignore her.

_Sweet payback_. Though it wasn't as sweet as he had anticipated.

She only sulked and languished like a lost child. Soon her time was spent more at lavish get-togethers with other non-working socialites—also wanting to spend more time with their families, of course. God only knows what she really did at these so-called parties. Jack didn't _want_ to know further than what he could already tell from her bedraggled appearance upon coming home and the sour scent that trailed. And of course his father showed little care. He was too absorbed in other matters to be concerned with something as trivial as a grown woman acting nearly three decades younger than her actual age.

With a lazy countenance, still staring straight ahead, he spoke again. "You might want to consider taking the evening off."

The woman's hand tightened over the ladle, her face scrunched. Immediate comprehension raked through her brain. The young Merridew has said things like that before. And she most definitely wasn't going to be there to witness the depravity. Quietly, she turned the stove off before covering the pot with a lid, shoving it to the back burner, speculating what kind of disaster would meet with the estate this time around when she wandered back in for work the next morning. Certainly never a dull moment here.

Jack had already departed from the kitchen, barely aware of his journey to the second level of the house before entering his room. It was impeccable as always—lacking any giveaway to the oblivious observer that anyone lived there at all. Everything had its meticulous place, like a museum display. The blue gaze observed this before his book bag was dumped over the bed, instantly marring the catalog image. Schoolbooks and assignments littered burgundy sheets. Only a few were snatched from the pile before he lounged at the window seat, thorough fingers already flipping through the books, immediately starting on the weekend assignments. He never did more than was necessary—yet he would never neglect his studies—even if he was about to usher hell into his home in only a few short hours.

Restless ears picked up on the ring of silence before he began to tap a casual rhythm against the edge of his notebook. A nuisance that was all too tempting to destroy.

**…**

Ralph followed Sam and Eric, toting his overnight bag along. It wasn't much. He never packed more than was necessary, especially when he was only going to be gone for such a short while. The blond walked at a rather despondent pace, vaguely recalling the listless events that had landed him here, ambling slowly up the twins' driveway. Irene had mentioned the night before at supper that her parents were taking her away for the weekend to visit relatives. Ralph was glad, as it was a reason for her to miss out on Jack's party. He hadn't particularly relished the possibly that he would have to watch out for her as well as the twins during the ridiculous event. So far, everything that he had heard about them weren't very good things. Most things were probably better left unsaid, but those were the very pieces of information that were too salacious to pass up for a good round of gossip, he supposed. That was, after all, how he was getting his current information.

It was Eric's suggestion that Ralph stay over at their home, though the blond couldn't tell if he was merely being gracious or just trying to guarantee that he would have extra assistance in keeping Sam out of unnecessary trouble at the event that he was so adamant on attending.

He had waited with them at the front of the school for their parents, barely even listening to Sam blather on about how wonderful Cynthia was while Eric occasionally interjected spiteful commentary, which his brother somehow managed to completely ignore. Ralph seemed to have also evaporated from their world as they continued on with their odd way of communicating with each other. He found that it was almost impossible to even eavesdrop on their conversation and follow their train of thought without hindrance. Most of what they said were only broken fragments of conversation, the rest of which was filled with their pointed, knowing looks, gestures, and occasional sighs that seemed to convey an entire sentence to the other. It was confusing to watch and it made Ralph's head ache.

Now, as they trudged through the twins' average-sized home, Sam nodded towards the couch in the den. "It's all yours, Ralph," he said before tackling his brooding brother in the hallway, trying to crack a smile from him. It didn't work. He only received a painful blow to the shoulder.

"What crawled up _your_ arse and died?" Sam muttered, nursing his tender arm.

Eric shot him a look, like he had just tasted curdled milk. "Oh nothing. Only the fact that _you_ are the entire reason that Ralph and I are even going to this stupid party! You _do_ know that this is going to be like walking straight into the snake pit, right?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Sam answered, an odd smile crossed his mouth as he seemed to be staring off into space, instantly causing Ralph to wonder what he was thinking about.

Then again, that was the problem in this situation. He _wasn't_ thinking.

**…**

Sam and Eric's older brother had to be coaxed into driving them that night. He was the only one aside from their parents that actually had a vehicle, no matter how beat up it was. That and the fact that he was the only one available that could legally drive. And so they all crammed into the backseat of his brother's run down car. Ralph ignored the occasional conversation between the brothers as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the ominous shadows of the passing trees and houses as they loomed closer to their destination. The neighborhoods grew nicer and more extravagant with each passing second. Soon even the properties were excessive, creating more private distance between the homes.

The night was still young, but it was already dark, causing the boisterous lights from the large estates to exude with pronounced clarity amidst the growing shadows. Looking around, Ralph was slightly alarmed to see that they could barely even perceive the next lit manor. It felt as if they were being dropped off in the heart of Hell itself with nothing but a sea of surrounding blackness. No quick way out.

_Great_.

Parked cars lined the street and it seemed to stretch on endlessly, though it didn't matter to them. Sam and Eric's brother merely pulled up to the front, allowing them to get out quick and easy.

"Hey you three, watch yourselves," the older brother mumbled, appraising the blaring mansion with disapproval. "It's Halloween, so… you never know."

"Yea, yea—"Eric responded. "I'll ring you when we need to be picked up."

He didn't look any more convinced as he pulled away from the home, driving back up the way he came, leaving the three unmoving teenagers to stare apprehensively towards the estate. Most were inside most likely due to the nippy air, but there were a few that moseyed past, their unsteady stride suggesting that they were already past the point of no return in their sobriety.

Ralph couldn't help but to roll his eyes, while Eric gulped and Sam beamed as he started to make his way towards the front doors, already set on his search for Cynthia. This alone was what forced Eric and Ralph to finally start making their way closer to the lights where pulsating music seemed to vibrate the very foundation.

They barely made it to the doors before they burst open, revealing a rowdy bunch of older teenagers, eagerly pushing their way out to the front lawn planning on doing God knows what. Ralph didn't care enough to watch and only closed the large double doors once he and Eric were inside. Sam was investigating each room along the foyer, fervently scanning the boisterous crowds.

The two walked forward, reluctance weighing their every step as they drew deeper into the chaos. Ralph could barely even hear his own breathing in the loudness of the chatter, laughter, and music. His pulse was in almost perfect synch with the throbbing of the tune. One of the sure things that he could detect was the fact that Merridew's home was beautiful—modern and sleek, not to mention so freaking huge. Another was the irrefutable, thick scent of alcohol. It permeated through the air, reeking from the crowd's pores as its heady perfume wafted past their nostrils.

To their left and right were various rooms that were dimmed for obvious reasons. Ralph flushed brightly at the vague twisting movement of bare skin within the shadows. Quickly shifting his eyes elsewhere, he moved with Eric further in. The party-goers' movements were wild, the atmosphere thick with their savage laughter and shouts. His pulse could be felt in his throat. Immediately, he knew that he hated it. Hated how it brought back memories of a different sort of dance. His flesh managed to retain a bit of the same mortified warmth from before when he realized with every direction that he managed to look, it was probably the most skin that he had ever seen in one setting. Nearly every girl was scantily clad and clinging to random blokes throughout. And it was only when Ralph's eyes traveled up the sweeping staircase to the upper level, did he perceive familiar faces—ones that he knew he would find, but hoped to avoid.

Their stomachs soured as Ralph's and eventually Eric's regards skimmed past the faces of the occupied hunters. Maurice and Bill literally had their hands full. Their dark eyes were already hazy; further evidenced by the half emptied lagers in hand. Their other limb was entwined around the waist of an attractive girl—frivolous individuals whose high-pitched giggles soared above the fierce chorus at every mundane comment that fell from their grinning lips. Worshipfully devouring every syllable from their mouths. He thought he noticed Roger's form from the corner of his eye, but his shadow was gone in the next instant. Nowhere to be seen.

Eric ogled the sight; envy tinged with humiliation layered his gawk. Ralph could only look on in disgust at the display before he was finally able to tear the unwarranted concentration away, too overtaken with sudden bilious resentment to look any longer. He couldn't comprehend how they could be so carefree… so normal. Well, what's considered normal enough for their age anyway. But not him. He still felt too misplaced. Too fucking stained. And he didn't understand why he seemed to be the only one. Turning away; he knew that he was ready to walk straight out that door, uncaring of the cold air that would await him, teeth already grinding an accustomed rhythm of pain beneath tightly closed lips.

"Ralph!"

The blond internally cringed at the all-too-familiar voice calling out his name. And it was all before he could even think to take a step in the most desirable direction away from the visual sickness. He felt the betrayal of a slightly racing pulse matched with a tinge of horrible warmth as it flooded his skin. The stomach clenching reaction was quickly smothered with sobering shame as his unbidden eyes turned towards Jack.

He caught sight of the tall ginger just as he pushed his way out of a pretty girl's drunken embrace from behind. Her blood-red nails grazed his torso before finally releasing her feeble hold. She appeared to be slightly confused, eyeing her surroundings, drunkenly realizing that she had misplaced something important. Ralph's gaze was immediately dragged, however, back towards the predator that swiftly approached him, a glittering blue gaze already having a head-start in assessing his new object of interest.

Ralph felt his own traitorous eyes do a quick once over, finding it odd to see Merridew in such normal looking attire. Dark washed jeans matched with a casual, black button-down. He was only more embarrassed to find himself thinking that he actually looked nice. Trying to ignore the insight, he bit down lightly on the inner soft edge of his lip where it hurt most before reluctantly connecting with the harrowing scrutiny.

Jack's eyes darkened at the unexpected glimpse of the verge of Ralph's teeth, tenderly digging into his own flesh. A nervous reaction, no doubt, but it did little to sway the sudden rush of exquisite interest currently seeping his insides with trembling heat. Unlike most individuals, however, arousal never made him shy or embarrassed. If nothing, it only served to smugly boost his ego; daring him to take it further. And he didn't back down from anything. He was a fucking Merridew after all—they didn't do timid.

"You actually came," he finally spoke again, a smirk decorating his lightly freckled face. Ralph's expression only grew more aggravated at this new tone of supremacy.

"_Un_fortunately," Eric spoke under his breath, nearly causing Ralph to flinch with surprise. Shit. He completely forgot that Eric was still with him. Jack also seemed to have neglected to notice the twin standing there next to them. His hard gaze swept over towards the straggling boy before recognition lit his eyes.

"Oh well if it isn't—"Jack stopped short, suddenly realizing that he was unsure of which twin he was staring at. He never did take the time to tell them apart… and he still couldn't find it in himself to actually give a shit as to who was who. "—eh, whoever the hell you are."

How eloquent. Ralph had to bite back a laugh.

Eric shrank ever so marginally behind the blond, his frightened gaze latching onto the floor. Jack's smile only grew wider at this reaction and he stepped closer, his shoulder brushing lightly against Ralph's as he drew purposefully closer to the twin, oddly delighted to see that he was moving even further away from him, cowering slightly behind Ralph's form.

"Oh and before I forget—" Jack's voice lowered, as if sharing an intimate secret, even if Ralph was still between them, within blatant earshot of the entire exchange. "—there's a _certain_ someone looking for you. Stay alert…" A breathy laugh followed, forcing Eric's blood to drain from his face.

Having enough of this, Ralph shouldered Jack away from the obviously terrified twin. "_Lay_ off," he shouted over the music. Jack's sudden glare slid onto Ralph's face, which was promptly returned. The tension hung within the fragile air between them as something languid passed over Jack's expression—a special guise just for this moment—as he leaned in close to Ralph's ear, away from Eric. Hot breath pouring over the blond's suddenly prickling skin.

"Oh, I won't forget my priorities… Follow me." And with that, he backed up, a dangerous expression lifting a lone corner of his mouth as he gave Ralph another heated glance. It held so much purpose — so much poisonous promise — that the blond couldn't help leaning forward in the slightest, his perilously charged body more than ready to comply, to hopelessly trail behind like snared metal fragments to a magnet.

Ralph stopped himself for a second, casting a blank glance over towards Eric, who still stood motionless, still clearly intimidated by his words. Eric didn't know what to say, even as he watched the blond slowly turn away from him to follow Merridew, sliding deftly into the gyrating crowd, closely trailing behind.

All he could do was observe with helpless silence as _his_ former chief followed _their_ former chief. He had no doubt that nothing good was going to come of it. Nothing ever did. The sullen thought was replaced with an even more alarming one: the fact that now both his brother and himself were being prowled by a blood-thirsty brunet bully. Grunting with newfound terror, masked with agitation, he turned his wandering gaze away from the direction that Ralph had left in and focused on the initial search for his wayward brother.

Meanwhile, the blond was trying his best to not get lost amidst the crowd.

_Good God… how many people _did_ he invite?_

Some of the people looked entirely unfamiliar to boot. By the time Ralph was free of the most congested part of the crowd and into the much less populated stairwell; his wariness over the situation grew to substantially more sensible proportions_. _

_Why in the hell was he even following Merridew? _He criticized himself for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening and yet it curiously did little to slow his steps. His frantic body moved of its own accord, unwavering eyes focused on the visage of red just ahead, now turning down a forlorn hallway. Ralph finally did pause this time. The music was substantially quieter now… though its vibrations could still almost be felt through the floor, like the pounding of his own threatened heartbeat.

_Now, was this _really_ a good idea?_

Before he could think of an answer to satisfy his brain, his body moved once more, hopelessly caught in the moment. Rash curiosity was currently stronger than caution. He glanced down a long hallway bathed in darkness, lit only by the moonlight as it cascaded through an open, large window, sheer drapes blowing precariously in the soft, chilling wind. The sight caused his skin to burn slightly, remembering other not-so-distant moonlit nights. Before he could be dragged even further into his ruminations, he noticed Jack's shadow as it pulled back the drapes even further, tucking them behind something obscure.

The blond stood, rooted to the ground as he watched, unsure. Jack pitched a glance over his shoulder, though it was difficult to see.

"Coming?" He intoned back at him before turning back to swing the creaking window open even further, stepping up onto the ledge. Ralph watched on in confusion as Jack deftly climbed the rest of the way out the window. Instead of completely disappearing as he expected, he was carefully perched just outside, as if his feet had landed on something solid.

With his interest now burning, Ralph finally broke free of his immobility as he approached the window, surprised to see the bit of rooftop available straight from the window. The back of Jack's head faced him as he carefully sat upon the slightly sloping top. Ralph stepped out of the window, cautiously forcing his trainers within the harsh grain of the rooftop's surface for much needed traction.

His palms were now moist and his tense heart raced at the elevated height. Standing next to the huddled figure of Jack, he finally lifted his eyes to survey the view. More inky blackness. The emptiness stretched on until it was abruptly met with the light of their nearest neighbors—though even they grew less frequent as the night drew on. His head inclined to survey the sky. There were more visible stars out here as opposed to the city. Their cold light spattered across the vast hollowness before his eyes were drawn to the full moon as it cast its subtle glow. A glow that never failed to force a slight ache of longing upon its many admirers.

"Sit," Jack ordered. His voice pierced through Ralph's ruminations and he suddenly remembered the dangerous rooftop that he was on. Feeling less inclined to follow through, but doing it anyway, Ralph sat, feeling the back of his jeans snag slightly upon the roof's texture.

"You can actually hear yourself think out here…" Jack continued after a small stretch of silence between them. Ralph perched his arms upon his knees before stealing a small glance over at the other. His insides coagulated slightly at Jack's expression. He looked… bared, like the unguarded appearance of deep sleep. Thoughtlessly vulnerable. Ralph shifted uncomfortably as the cold wind picked up again, tousling their hair and the loose ends of clothing.

Ralph moistened his parched lips, looking once more out at the horizon. "Nice party," he spoke quietly, blunt sarcasm drying his words. "Where's the supervision?" he couldn't stop his somewhat mocking question, shocked at the slightly playful tone that his voice had conveyed. A tone that he had only used with Irene before. He bit the side of his tongue, feeling oddly abashed.

Jack's lips curved slightly, still staring ahead. "Not here… Until the grown-ups come to fetch us, we'll have our fun…" A breathy chuckle followed, surprisingly devoid of any sort of the usual smugness.

Ralph peered over, dark reminiscence tugging at his heart towards Jack's exact wording of one of the first things that Ralph had said after being elected chief on that godforsaken island. So very long ago, it seemed. They unknowingly shared a meaningful smile over one of the better memories that they had shared. That is, before everything went to pot.

Thoughts were interrupted when he felt warm, electrical fingertips graze against the top of his hand. Ralph swallowed thickly, keeping his hand perfectly still; silently enjoying the contact before the intruding fingers suddenly recoiled. "God, Ralph…you're freezing," Jack said.

Ralph finally moved his hand away, feeling his cheeks burn, just as he felt Jack sliding his body closer—so close that their arms barely touched. He could feel his radiating heat all the same and instead of feeling the usual pang of anxiety, his body actually began to slacken. As his pulse began to pound loud and heavy within his ears, bizarre tranquility seeped into his bones despite being within millimetres of the very individual that ought to make him want to run—want to constantly evade.

Instead, like an idiot seeking bereavement, he felt himself lean closer, lulled by the constant tide of Jack's hot breath as it now puffed gently against the side of his face. Drawing closer still, Ralph's body began to thaw with an edging anticipation, a feeling that festered when he felt heated lips press against the side of his throat. A hum of involuntary approval escaped the blond as eyelids grew heavy, blanketing his world, focused entirely on the tantalizing stir within his body that Jack managed to provoke with only his mouth. Ralph craned his neck in the slightest, mind fogged and overwhelmed with the pleasant feeling. The tip of Jack's teasing tongue drew tiny circles into the flesh of his neck as his lips dragged softly against the skin, trailing a moist outline up past the edge of Ralph's jaw until he reached the lobe of his ear. He bit the skin there and gently sucked before retreating. His hovering exhale invoked shivers along the wet skin.

Ralph shuddered as a cold draft shifted their hair once more. Red against gold as he leaned close. Ralph's eyes cracked open slightly, immediately detecting the tiny points of faraway stars in the sky, barely even registering the fact that he was being pulled down by persistent hands. With his back aligned tightly against the roof, Jack quickly hovered above. The blond was spellbound and offered little resistance as his captor lowered his body, pressing their clothed warmth together before working a thigh between his quivering legs.

Jack released a husky sound of amusement when he felt the vibrations of the smallest of groans escape from the boy beneath him. One of his hands cupped the side of Ralph's face as he moved closer. His lower lip touched Ralph's thin upper one with only a humid strip of intermingled breath between them as he whispered. "You can't deny it." He paused to force a bruising kiss upon the motionless mouth before speaking again. He lifted away only to speak single words between hard kisses. "Not… anymore…"

Pulling back, now a good distance, Jack's fingers stroked the cluttered blonde fringe away from his pale forehead, ignoring the set of eyes that trained upon him, growing more jaded with every syllable that he uttered. "You let me touch you… kiss you… _want_ _you_." Here Jack grinned, a sliver of triumph and pride erupting beneath his soft words. "…And you _like_ it." He was set on staining the skin beneath him, taking, biting, and licking. Fully fixed on plundering what belonged to him. Thoroughly marking what was rightly his. Intent was interrupted, however, when he felt a powerful force against his chest. Ralph's face was flushed with anger as he brutally shoved him away.

Losing balance, he fell, feeling the sick vertigo of the slanted roof as the weight of his body refused to stop sliding down. Ralph panted, realizing his sick mistake with wide, panicked eyes as he rapidly scrambled towards Jack, clawing and snatching at his arm, stopping his fall and pulling him back to the safety of the motionless surface, their limbs colliding awkwardly, painfully forcing the air from his lungs as the weight of Jack's body crushed him.

They stilled with sweating palms clutching at each other's clothes, pulses pounding and anxious breaths gasping. By the time they regained their breath and the strength of normalcy returned, Ralph was mortified upon feeling the vibrations of Jack's quiet laughter as he neglected to pick himself up from him.

"See what I mean," was all the redhead uttered before he repositioned himself over Ralph, now straddling his waist before leaning down to seal his mouth with his. Ralph made a noise of protest, his lungs still burning like hell after having the air knocked out of him. He needed to breathe, dammit!

Jack ignored him and only continued to orally dominate him, plunging in his tongue and pushing against Ralph's. All the while, his fingers grooved painfully into his jaw, holding his struggling blond still. Seconds slid by, but they felt torturously long to Ralph as he continued to squirm against him. His lungs were on fire now and he began to feel digustingly lightheaded. With one final push against Jack while maneuvering his legs, he managed to flip them over.

Wasting no time, Ralph pinned Jack's wrists hard against the rooftop, while drinking in sweet air in rasps. "Shit, Merridew!" he finally said after his lungs were somewhat satisfied. "Are you _trying_ to suffocate me?"

He remained limp beneath Ralph, watching with smug amusement, finding that he rather liked this breathless display. "Is that what I do to you?" His tone was smooth, yet faintly mocking. A broad smirk began to taint his expression. Ralph yanked his wrists harshly to the side before releasing him with a flare of disgust. He carefully stood up on the now precarious rooftop, not trusting it one bit as he inched away from Jack and closer to the gaping, dark window. "Fuck off," he muttered.

Jack stood up, much faster than Ralph had. The sly look never quite washed from his face as he made a grab for the escaping blond before he could make it any closer to the window. His arms pulled his slender back flush against his chest, husky breath hitting the side of his face.

"Sure thing, Medevane. Just give me the time and place," Jack's smirk grew when he felt the blond twisting away from his grasp.

"Ugh." Ralph couldn't help the noise of disgust as he freed himself from Jack's arms, which were slightly more compliant after a few seconds of struggle. "God, I'm such an idiot… I don't even know why I followed you here."

Before Jack could stop him, Ralph made it in through the window, successfully this time, back in the safety of the hallway before immediately taking off.

"Oi! Where are you going?" Jack called back, suddenly feeling the painful emptiness of his once favorite hideaway creep back into his cold skin as Ralph continued to walk away. That wouldn't do. He needed the heat—that scorching rush. He needed it to smother the uncomfortable prickling barrenness that always remained. He quickly followed after him, scrambling through the window, barely catching himself before crashing against the hardwood of the hallway. He winced at the thought of his skull meeting the floor.

Without even a backward glance, Ralph refused to slow in his aim for a speedy departure, putting as much distance as he could between them. He didn't even really think that Jack deserved a response, though one spouted from his mouth before he could think twice to deprive him. "To find Eric..."

Glittering blue eyes suddenly narrowed as he attempted to catch up to the blond without actually running. He didn't want to appear _that_ desperate, now did he? _Come to think of it, Ralph did arrive at his party with that blasted twin_… The thought didn't sit well with Jack, though he wasn't quite sure why he didn't come to this conclusion sooner. A viciously tight, hot anger spread through his mind. His fingers quaked slightly before they tightened into fists, nails biting into his palms.

"What do you need _him_ for?" Jack spat.

This time, Ralph really did ignore him as he turned down the hallway, a slight increase in speed within his footsteps. The music was getting louder and the lights were getting brighter, much to his satisfaction. He just knew that he couldn't be trapped with Merridew in the shadowed hallways again.

_Little twat_… Jack simmered as he finally did race the last few metres right before Ralph emerged into the bright stairwell. He reached out, roughly ensnaring his arm before slamming him against the wall, accidently knocking the back of Ralph's head against the structure. Ralph groaned, feeling tender pain shoot through the back of his skull after the sharp contact. Jack held him by the shoulders, while Ralph grabbed him by the forearms. They stood still for a moment, fire within their gazes as their muscles strained against the other.

"Let me go!" Ralph shouted, struggling against the iron grip that Jack held over him.

"Never," Jack snarled, pushing him against the wall once more as if to reaffirm his statement. Ralph felt himself slack slightly, suddenly feeling familiar apprehension filter through. Fear. Just like the reminiscent jungle's moisture as it collected like dust over his skin, clinging and collecting like filth.

"I don't think you understand," Jack continued, his voice low and cutting. His eyes displayed little of the scant display of friendliness from before. Despite the harshness within his expression, one of his hands loosened upon Ralph's shoulder. Satisfied in seeing that his wide-eyed quarry wasn't making any move to escape, it drifted across his chest before turning south. His fingertips stroked and created horrible, sensuous patterns down his abdomen. Gnawing on his bottom lip, Ralph tensed, suddenly aware of Jack's objective as his forefinger first made contact with the front of his belt. Feeling a flush of heat pool within his cheeks, their eyes connected.

The redhead's breathing changed. It became slightly quicker as his eyes flooded with abrupt want. His daring finger was now hooked beneath the belt as his thumb traced the outline of the buckle.

As if freshly woken into an instant state of alarm, Ralph took this chance of slack and pushed his way past Jack after yanking the suggestive hand away from the edge of his jeans. He nearly stumbled in haste down the stairs past the other party goers, though Jack remained behind, his frozen expression followed the blond. He stood still. Irritatingly and undeniably still, his limbs suddenly feeling much heavier than simple flesh and bone. His stomach felt as if it were filling with acid, burning through his insides.

After long minutes of seeing red for the blatant rejection, he finally moved, viciously grabbing a few amber-colored bottles from the nearest cooler.

**…**

The hours crept by and it was now well past midnight… soon it would be closing in on the witching hour. Very few had left. If anything, the noises had escalated and the crowd grew a bit rowdier. Eric was frightened by the growing display. He had already refused a drink at least a dozen times… Some of them were already opened and probably mixed with God knows what. When he finally did run into Sam, he was shocked to see that he wasn't even wearing half of the same clothes that he had been upon arrival. At least the faded jeans were his, but the backwards, half buttoned shirt was a few sizes too big and it smelled like it had been drenched in a pool of sour liquor and vomit. A strange looking hat had also mysteriously appeared on top of his head. And of course his idiot girlfriend was nowhere to be found. Eric grumbled his irritation when Sam staggered straight into him, swinging his half emptied lager haphazardly through the air, nearly smacking him in the head with it.

"Thur you are, Eric," Sam's voice slurred. A stupid grin was plastered on his face as his glazed eyes found his twin's.

"Good God, Sam! How much did you have to drink?" Eric gaped, not at all enthused with seeing him tottering around like this. If he wasn't the only seemingly sober one in the entire manor, he would have been embarrassed beyond repair by his brother's ridiculous behavior.

"Nodda 'nuff," Sam murmured as he moved to take another clumsy swig. Eric snatched the bottle away from his brother before it even reached his lips, earning a childish looking pout from him.

"You bloody well _have_ had enough," Eric snapped, setting the bottle somewhere too out of reach for the sloshed Sam to retrieve it quickly enough. He turned back to him. "Now where's Ralph?" He demanded, suddenly hating how much he was currently sounding like their overbearing mum.

"I tho' he was wit you," Sam said, the heels of his hands rubbing at his face.

Eric rolled his eyes. "Oh, well that's just great… now we have to go find him too before we get the hell out of here."

"Nuuuuuu," Sam whined, swinging his arm around Eric's shoulders, putting all of his weight into it, nearly causing Eric to topple over. "But we're having such a fun time!"

"Maybe you are. But I don't want to wait around till something bad happens." Eric flipped his phone out, while also precariously balancing Sam, searching for their older brother's number. His fingers shook with how quickly he was trying to rummage through his contacts. Voices escalated and they heard the shattering of glass within the next room. His palms were now slicken with nervous perspiration.

Sam giggled suddenly and uncontrollably, throwing Eric's sullen mood off. He paused in his pursuit for the phone number, his eyes looking back up through slightly narrowed lids. "What's so funny?"

"Guess what?" Sam released his hold from his brother before leaning forward, his eyes darting around conspiratorially before breaking into some sort of enigmatic grin. "I just had sex for the first time! As in like fifteen minutes ago."

Eric stared, his nose crinkled in extreme repugnance, really not liking the image that Sam had just presented to him. "_Ugh_… why the hell do you think I'd want to know that?" He snapped his phone shut before returning it to his pocket, ranking his fingers agitatedly through his hair as he turned away from his currently obnoxious brother. Doing so forced his eyes to land on a familiar someone. His blood ran cold.

"Hello, Eric," Roger drawled. A gleam entered his fringe-shadowed gaze, ravenously eyeing the figure before him.

He always could tell the twins apart.

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><p><strong>Sorry for the evil cliffy... but I had to. Lots more to come. (: Reviews are love.<strong>


	11. Duality

**A/N: I am so sorry about my hiatus. I won't go into detail over why it happened-only that it happened and I'm ready to start writing again. Hopefully you lovely readers still have an interest in this story. For those still around, I want to thank you so much for your support and beautiful words of encouragement. :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 11 - Duality<strong>

"_The best thing for being sad is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting."_

_-T.H. White, The Once and Future King_

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><p>.<p>

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Happiness is fleeting. In the end, it's a foolish endeavor when the world is filled with people discovering new and interesting ways to hurt each other. Perhaps that's why darkness has always lodged a sense of worry in others. Hell, it wasn't even really the dark that they were afraid of, was it? It's whatever happened to be hiding within.

What's so wrong about being afraid of actual darkness itself? It's nothing more than a mask. One that taunts and tempts the average do-gooders into things that normally would have remained unperformed deeds. Adhering to the obscure stirrings within their hearts—the desires that make them quiver and melt. Secret cravings and exploits held in careful check beneath society—such things that would never be accepted. Darkness, untruths, and white lies were the masks that everyone wore in the end. People were weak.

That's how Roger felt. He was well aware of the shivers as they ran up and down his spine, the kind that made him weak and breathless. They tormented him. Relentlessly. The urge drained into nearly all hours of the day and even into his sleep deprived nights. The barrier that held it back was no more than damaged film. In more ways than one, it was like losing his virginity. And he supposed that that's exactly what it was. The barrier to those desires had long been pillaged, eliciting long, drawn-out excitement, and leaving only a bone-dry emptiness upon returning to his mundane, civil life.

With the restraints torn beyond recognition, the sickness seeped. He could feel the filth as it rested over his skin. He knew it was supposed to be disgusting. And in retaliation, he wanted nothing more than to spread it to those around him. His pulse always quickened upon seeing others around campus that he had left the undetectable residue. At least then it would leave him with a sense of contentment.

It was the closest he could get to happiness. Because happiness wasn't real.

The same thrill hummed through his body as he shoved Eric against the side of the house. They were in the garden, tucked away in a precise spot where they wouldn't be easily spotted. He had a firm grip over the boy's arm as they walked, quickly losing the sloshed Sam somewhere amidst the crowd inside.

If Eric was worried about his brother, he didn't say anything. His face only tightened into a silent grimace, trying to keep up with Roger's pace, fearful that his arm would be twisted out of its socket if he didn't comply. He knew better than to put that beyond Roger.

The October air bit at their uncovered skin, but Roger didn't seem to mind as he pressed urgently against Eric even further, feeling every shallow indent of tissue and bone.

Eric bit his lip to keep from crying out when he suddenly felt the left front of his head make sharp contact against the wall, facing the empty darkness of the side of the house. Something warm tickled down the side of his face. His eyes pricked with the console that at least Sam wasn't in his position right now. It was getting harder to grasp onto that particular thought when he felt Roger's calloused fingers digging painfully into his jaw, forcing him to look away, facing the other direction while he continued to press against him.

Roger's fingers clawed at his skin even harder, craning his neck. Eric wordlessly complied, hoping to lessen the pressure behind those fingers. And it did… if only slightly. It was one of his techniques. Something that Eric or Sam never forgot. Eric felt the growing curve of Roger's mouth against his neck at the conditioned response.

Roger on the other hand, felt the brief pleasure of power as it tore through his veins. He felt Eric squirm beneath his hold as he pressed his lower face into his neck, invading the natural cocoon of heat that it held. He could feel the tantalizing pulse of the pulse beneath his lips, fancying that he could taste the blood resting beneath. The pulse quickened as Eric continued to fidget. Roger's grip tightened, pressing harder against that stretch of breakable skin. Visions of a bristled, rougher hide invaded his mind. The air filled with the sinful perfume of sweat, earth, and blood.

Roger's eyelids grew heavy. The juices flooded his mouth and before thought caught up with his body, he parted his lips. The tip of his tongue slipped past, immediately pushing against and harshly tracing the outline of the teasing vein.

Eric started to struggle at the suddenly warm, slick feeling at his throat. A tiny whimper escaped as he tried to wriggle his way out of Roger's grasp. His cheeks burned and embarrassment turned his stomach.

Roger clawed at his throat once more, knocking the back of his head sharply against the wall, ending the struggle.

Eric opened his mouth to voice… something… anything. Nothing, but a husky sound of protest. Eric felt more wetness against the side of his face, quickly concluding that he could die. Right here in Merridew's sodding garden of all places. Fate really has a sick sense of humor.

_Oh God… Oh God, please no_… Eric mentally chanted as his gaze locked with Roger's. Dark eyes. Eyes that stared—impassive with rare flickers of curiosity, taking in every detail that the pale boy with the crimson stained cheek had to offer.

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A rosy feeling settled within Ralph's body. The pungent warmth flooded and overwhelmed everything, enticing him to simply forget why his impression of the party had been so piss poor in the first place. Though, of course, he was far from being drunk. No… _far from it_, he would claim. And yet, it didn't stop the world from looking a hell of a lot better than it did just a few short hours ago. Who knew that a drink or two… _or three_… would make such a difference? Even the other party goers seemed to be much friendlier than he had initially assumed.

And… why was he so upset in the first place?

The thought caused a small laugh to escape his lips as misplaced giddiness spread through his body. He shrugged away the morsel of anxiety wedged within the back of his mind. Thoughts were becoming more difficult to keep straight, but it became less of a bother as he concentrated only on bringing the saliva-slickened mouth of the bottle to his lips once more, accepting the liquid burn as it slid down his throat, settling warmly within his stomach and spreading.

It had taken at least two bottles before the faint trembling within his hands had finally stilled after the encounter with Jack. His pulse was calm and deliciously low as the fear melted away. Even his bones felt weak, all warm and gooey on the inside. A silly smile creep over his face as the person in front of him went on talking. _Good God_… he'd already been talking for a solid hour or so.

Wait… who the hell was he talking to? He couldn't even remember the bloke's name… and he was sure that he'd already asked for it at least three times. Shit. Ralph's smile broke away for a moment as his brows furrowed in half-hearted concentration.

_Why couldn't he think?_

Looking back up at the unknown teenager who continued to talk to him about something or other, Ralph took in his sharply angled features. Nothing about him was even vaguely familiar… and judging by his dyed hair and multiple silver piercings lining his ears, they most definitely did not attend the same school. He ambiguously wondered why he was even here before taking another drink, concentrating once more on the feeling as it seared down his throat.

Ralph was startled to find the sudden presence of hot breath against his face. Soon after, he found himself falling flat against the wall. Since when had he been on this side of the room? Well at least the wall broke his fall, right? Oh, bugger.

The teenager with the strange hair peered at Ralph. "You really can't hold your drink," he teased. Something akin to amusement flickered across his eyes before adding, "Well, for this being your first time drinking, you're really putting them away."

For the first time in what seemed like hours, Ralph actually looked at him, his gaze sobering somewhat. "I—I told you that?" The question came out rather clear despite the sudden dryness of his mouth. Confusion illuminated briefly before alarm set in.

_Where was he exactly? And what the fuck was he doing with this stranger? _

The blond ran the back of his hand agitatedly across his glossy eyes as a light sweat shone upon his brow. The other watched his every move with an uncomfortable intensity before chuckling. "Want another drink? Looks like you could use one."

"You're the one who's been giving these to me?" Ralph was somewhat surprised at how clear that came out—clearer than before. Wow, a whole question. Perhaps he wasn't as plastered as he thought… but that still didn't explain the memory loss.

The stranger only leaned in closer, a strange expression crossing his face before tapping two fingers not so gently against Ralph's forehead. "And where have you been for the past hour?" His eyes lit with a pseudo wounded look while leaning against the wall alongside him.

_That's what I'd like to know, _Ralph thought semi-coherently, leaning further away. The other didn't seem to take the hint, however; or perhaps he was just as loosely mentally inclined as Ralph was at the moment.

The blond looked off to the side, attempting to remember who it was that he was looking for before apparently deciding to have a drink… Muddled thoughts were interrupted with the warm pressure of a hand slipped across his chest, fingers tracing along the edge of his ribcage before pressing against his side. He moved sluggishly away, his reaction time extremely useless at this point, though his progress was stopped with the tightening of the hand against his flesh.

"So—" the hot, acrid breath cascaded down the side of his face. "—you and Merridew, huh?"

A flare of annoyance at the whispered implication was enough to bring a bit more life to the sudden denseness in his limbs.

"Wha-?! _No_! Who told you that? … I' is complete rubbish." Ralph attempted to properly glare at the stranger, though had little confidence that it actually came across as one. His eyelids felt heavy.

The teenager leered. His grip loosened, though not enough to alleviate the implications. Fuck implications. Even with his alcohol riddled mind, Ralph knew what that hand wanted as it trailed and groped, dipping into the slight incline of his backside. Flinching at the bold touch, Ralph automatically shoved the invasive fingers away as his eyes drifted about the room. No one else seemed to notice, all of them nearby either much worse or equal states of sobriety as him.

"So—he's already done with you? That was quick." The teenager's laugh was airy, the stench of liquor and something sour wafting from his close face. "—though' for sure you'd last longer than that," he smiled; his breathing became heavy.

"Still up for some more? Y'seem like y'still have some left ta give…"

Ralph was about to ask what he was talking about until he felt a wet muscle of a tongue against his ear, tracing sloppily along the maze of cartilage until it ended at his neck, eliciting an unpleasant shiver. The blond shoved away from him, muttering something between a "no thanks" and a "fuck you_"_, though he wasn't quite sure how it came out. He hoped to God that it sounded like the latter.

The other boy only grinned. A strange half grunt, half snort escaped his lips as the same bruising hand pulled Ralph's body closer. "Bet you're still tight," the slurred words matched with his hoarse voice were probably meant to be an odd form of dirty enticement. For Ralph; however, it held all the allure of putrid cesspools.

"Ge' off me, bastard," the blond pushed him away with a surprising amount of strength given his current slowness. The shove sent the other straight into a drunk couple exchanging heated words. The argument quickly shifted, turning into a shoving match between the two males, while the girl threatened to break her bottle over one of their heads if they didn't break it up.

Ignoring them, Ralph made his way unsteadily into the nearest hallway, common sense screaming through his clouded brain that he should probably find a toilet before the curdling in his stomach became too much to handle. He stumbled into what he thought was the right room, though it was too dark to tell. His hand skimmed along the papery surfaced wall searching for the outline of a switch.

Faint rustling caught his ear and he turned, surveying the shadowed forms of a large desk and surrounding chairs. By the moon's faint light from a nearby uncovered window, he noticed that the walls were lined with mahogany bookcases with large volumes occupying the crevices. And someone was lounging haphazardly on the largest upholstered chair. Stepping closer, Ralph caught a feeble sight of the ever recognizable blazing red hair and half-lidded, unfocused eyes before detecting the state of the room. It had been ransacked.

"What are you doing here?" Ralph spoke before he could think, his words meshing together.

Jack raised his head from the desk, looking even more confused than before as he gave his equally incoherent reply. "What the hell are you talking about—I can be here if I want. This is my fucking house."

Ralph blinked, feeling the flush worsen over the back of his neck. "Right…"

"Come here," Jack whispered. He moved from where he was sitting before leaning back against the cluttered desk. A new idea had formulated amidst drunken thoughts and his gaze was burning. He felt impulsive. He wanted to be reckless. Their time on the roof served only as a tease.

Ralph stood motionless for several seconds. "What for?"

Despite the protest, he drew closer, leaving the door ajar. Jack smiled, leaning further back, his elbows supporting him from behind. Jack looked up at him from beneath his dark fringe, waiting. Smug satisfaction began to sour when the blond just stood there in front of him, staring without seeing.

Releasing an irritated sigh, Jack sat himself up. He grabbed a hold of Ralph's hips and gave a violent tug so that the front of his thighs collided harshly with the edge of the desk between Jack's legs. Bringing his arms around the blond's frame, he pushed their bodies together, the edge of his nose burying in the warm scent of Ralph's shirt. Jack's fingers slid between his shoulder blades.

"Apparently, you're a rather stupid drunk," the redhead scoffed.

He fisted the back of Ralph's shirt, pulling his body over his, lying back on the desk. He felt the gasp of Ralph's breath against his face, hovering over him. The shadows deepened over his expression and the only thing that could really be seen were traces of pale hair hanging over his brow.

Ralph paused, wondering how exactly he went from standing in the doorway to looming over Jack on top of the desk. Jack made no move, laying back in a drunken show of submission, although it didn't quite appear to be that by the way his eyes seemed to glitter in the scant light pouring over their bodies.

"Do it," he whispered.

Confusion crossed the blond's eyes. He attempted to lift himself away from the situation that made his insides tremble. He felt the pressure of Jack's hands over his forearms before he could move away any further.

"I want to see you do it," Jack's voice took an angry turn, but remained low.

"Of course you do," Ralph said. His pulse quickened, this time with irritation. "Then you can convince yourself that you're not molesting me at every chance. If I start anything, then we're both in this…" His voice tapered off, the sick fluttering in his stomach growing.

Jack's laughter rang out beneath him, bitter and amused. "You and your stupid logic. You're already in this. We're both in this. We're the fucking same! The only difference is that you prefer to lie to yourself."

Jack's grasped Ralph's jaw, drawing him lower, face to face with him. With a gasp of air, Ralph pushed back, standing up and nearly colliding with the bookshelf. As quickly as Ralph regained his senses, Jack was before him, pinning him against the books with his body.

He muttered something, probably a string of curses, before shoving his tongue into Ralph's slightly open mouth, furiously working it into submission. Ralph could taste the lager on his tongue mixed with something spicy and warm. Like their previous kisses, it was wet and hard. With alcohol and adrenaline still racing through his blood, heat quickly bloomed between his legs.

Jack's mouth slid away from his, staggering violently to the side as if someone had pushed him. Murderous blue eyes looked around, ready to maim whoever had dared to sneak up on him.

Wiping away saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, Ralph also glanced about, confused by Jack's odd reaction. There was no one there.

Turning back toward Ralph, Jack's complexion paled considerably. Guessing as to what was going to happen next, Ralph quickly moved away, barely missing the vomit.

"Oh for the love of—" Ralph groaned, covering his nose and mouth.

He couldn't see it, thank God, but he could hear and smell the mess hitting the hardwood floors mixed with the occasional painful gag and violent retch. Just hearing it made his throat hurt. The room's air filled with acrid bitterness found in backwater pubs. Frozen to the spot, Ralph waited until the heaves faded before daring to look back at Merridew. He was leaning over the floor, clutching at the wall, looking very much like he was going to pass out.

Tentative, Ralph approached him.

"I should just leave you the way you are… swimming in your own filth," he muttered, though felt little conviction. He waited, listening to the dying sounds of the party just outside, slowly releasing a thoughtful breath, focusing his gaze back on the crippled shadow of a boy.

Grasping Jack's arm, he pulled him hard, bringing him to his feet, though allowed him to lean against him. Without words, they left the study, stumbling unfocused into the hallway.

"Tell me where your room is," Ralph said.

There was a long pause, and for a moment Ralph was afraid that he wasn't going to answer until he mumbled a barely coherent answer, "Second floor, first door on the right."

Well, that was somewhat vague, considering the size of this house… but Ralph wasn't easily daunted. They made it up the stairs with great difficulty, Jack dead drunk and nearly unconscious, while Ralph was still a bit shaky himself. There were many uneasy steps and nearly running into crochet decorated side tables lining the halls, but they eventually made it to an area where Jack grunted.

Ralph took that as an affirmative. He put much more effort than it should take to open a door now that Jack was practically leaning all of his body weight into him.

There was more stumbling in the dark before Jack made it to his bed. Ralph, somewhat satisfied, turned to finally leave. Jack's finger's clawed into his arm, stopping him.

"Wait—" Jack said, his voice breathy and small. Ralph turned back, regarding him cautiously. His blue eyes were wide and a bit bloodshot. With his mask melted into nothing, he looked no more menacing than a frightened child: startled, alone, and distant.

"—don't go." His hand dropped, releasing Ralph's arm, pleading now only with drowsy eyes. "Just don't. Stay here."

Despite his efforts to ignore it, Ralph's heart pinched. Just a little.

"F-fine," his harsh whisper resounded, disregarding the pressure in his chest when he acquiesced.

Jack relaxed back into his bed, the strange expression still haunting his features.

His head began to pound as he searched Jack's room for a suitable place to rest. _Just for a little while_—Ralph reminded himself. Spying the window seat, he opened the drapery and cracked open the side windows for fresh air before resting against the few pillows lining the cushion.

_Just until he's asleep… Then, I'm off for good_… his thoughts drifted.

He was gone barely before he turned to his side, curling comfortably against the slight chill of the night wafting through the opened windows.

Both were out cold within seconds and neither moved again for several hours.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Jack smelled something that he hadn't smelled in a while, something flowery and sweet. A scent that belonged only within the framework of his childhood, a nice memory before everything happened. It was a memory that he wanted to be left untouched and untainted. Unlike the rest of him. The smell tugged at his mind, prying the memory loose like misshapen pearls from stubborn oysters. When it came loose, a small rush of warmth went through him.

_Yes_—that's what it was. His mother used to tend to a large flowerbed when he was little. When she _was_ a mother. Little evidence now remained of her prior softness, of her pretty smile. The servants now took it upon themselves to keep a carefully prim handful of rosebushes just outside of his window. Well, not exactly _just_ outside, as his room is on the second floor, but close enough.

The smell is what woke him, dragging him confusedly, bleary-eyed from the inky black nothingness of sleep into the miserable world that awaited. Only—the smell in his dreams didn't vanish like it should have.

Jack looked about confused, fragments of memory from the night before flashed before him, though made little sense and didn't explain how he even ended up in his room. His hand automatically reached to his side, satisfied to find the sheets empty. At least he didn't have to throw anyone out.

It still didn't feel right, though. Something felt off. It was then that he finally realized that his draperies and windows were open, judging by the harsh morning light and flowery air, making his already sore mind and body pound in agony.

"Uhh—Fuuuuck," Jack moaned, dragging himself out of bed, nearly falling to the floor when the sheets tangled around his legs. Making his way like the living dead, he practically dragged his putrid, dirty self into the shower. It took at least two scrubbings before he felt semi clean. His clothes were rancid and stiff as he peeled them off. His mouth felt like it was coated in slime—_fucking hell_, it tasted like vomit.

He swallowed two pills to quiet the dense, resonating hammering in his head, after thoroughly cleaning his teeth. Twice. It's funny how methodical he now was with hygiene, considering his love for all things grimy when he was far younger.

Walking back into his room in a fresh change of clothes, he just then noticed the curled up, sleeping body on his window seat. That probably explained the open windows. Confusion addled his brain, but Ralph's face was the one clear thing about last night after the rooftop, so he couldn't find it in himself to be completely perturbed. The last thing he expected, though, was for the blond to actually have the guts to stick around… Surprise was soon replaced by an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling in Jack's chest. For the first time in a very long while, he didn't want to bother him.

Feeling awkward, he quietly began to gather his scattered schoolbooks near the window seat… because they just happened to be there, _that's all_… It had absolutely nothing to do with the boy sleeping there. None whatsoever.

Jack crouched low to pick up the book bag strewn across the floor. In the corner of his eye, he could see Ralph's sleeping expression. He hadn't noticed the tired lines there before… or the slight bags under his eyes. Wasn't he getting enough sleep? Feeling heat rise in his face for doing so, Jack leaned closer, his attention now fully focused on the unmoving expression—so different from the tense one usually worn by its owner. Before he could stop himself, the tips of his fingers touched the side of Ralph's face. His hand flinched away when he realized what he was doing. The movement caused the sluggish opening of Ralph's eyelids. A look of alarm passed over his eyes as he shot forward. Unfortunately for the both of them, Ralph's forehead to collide hard with Jack's temple.

Jack cried out. The previous throbbing returned with a vengeance along with a fresh wave of sickness. Ralph wasn't fairing much better. He slowly swung his feet to the floor, but his right palm was rubbing his pounding head with tender, slow motions as he groaned quietly.

"What _the hell_ are you doing?" Ralph mumbled, his speech slurred from sleep.

Jack didn't answer for a long while. Not until his brain felt like it could function without sluicing around too terribly against his skull.

"I wasn't molesting you if that's what you're getting at." He managed to coherently speak—his tone lacking the usual sting. "What are _you_ doing here, anyhow?" Jack asked quietly, though the demand still lingered.

"You asked me to stay." Ralph was staring at the floor.

"I did? Can't really remember anything past the study…" He seemed genuinely confused. Ralph glanced at him, a little surprised, but also not completely so… considering how plastered he was.

"Well… I'm off," Ralph said, his tired voice soft and scratchy. He slipped from his place at the window seat.

"Wait," Jack almost shouted, his hand automatically reaching forward to grab Ralph's arm. There was an awkward pause in the tension filled air. "Will you… stay with me?"

Ralph's expression was unreadable. "Why?"

Ignoring his question, Jack continued to speak, his eyes a strange mixture of intensity and embarrassment. His cheeks slowly darkened. "We can have breakfast… if you'd like?" Since when did he ever ask if Ralph _'_would like' to do anything? "Or… I can give you a ride?"

The blond paused. Breakfast actually did sound good... Anything with substance to stop the sick quivering of his empty stomach. In either case, he was sorely without food or a ride, so either sounded acceptable. But staying with Jack? He wasn't so sure about that.

He arched a lazy eyebrow at the expectant redhead. "I don't think you're really in any condition to be driving, Merridew."

Jack rolled his eyes. "I'm perfectly fine."

"You were plastered last night… and you're obviously hung over right now. I wouldn't let you drive me twenty yards." His voice was flat.

Jack exhaled harshly, obviously agitated. "Well, fine then. Would you at least like to ring someone up?"

Ralph paused, suddenly aware that who he _could_ ring up was extremely limited. God only knows if Sam and Eric even arrived home last night… Irene was gone for the weekend… The more he realized his limited options, the more an uncomfortable heat took over his skin as the emptiness resounded.

Jack felt his stomach drop just a little when the strained silence prevailed between them. He scratched at the back of his head before speaking again. "Listen… uh… how about we just grab something to eat here and you can use the phone whenever you'd like. Sounds like a plan, yeah?"

Jack had a feeling that Ralph didn't really want to answer him, so he ended the awkward pause by leaving the room, his ears straining to hear Ralph's soft footsteps as they hesitantly followed him out. He led him to the kitchen, his eyes occasionally straying to the maids cleaning the remnants of the party, some of them shoving random articles of strewn clothing into plastic bags to be thrown out. Jack heard a soft snort from Ralph and their arms accidently brushed. The redhead felt a ridiculous amount of heat from that. And it only grew worse when he realized that he was actually blushing. Jack Merridew never _blushed_.

When they reached the kitchen, he saw that the old cook had returned, already forming dough with her hands. She looked up from her work at the two. "Jack, there you— oh hello, there," her voice grew suddenly pleasant when she noticed the fresh face. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, though she was a shade confused, as visitors were rare.

"Hello, ma'am," Ralph returned her friendly smile, his hair still slightly disheveled from sleep. The sight made Jack want to grab at it—to run his fingers through the familiar soft strands.

"May I help with anything?" Ralph asked.

The cook paused, her eyes widened slightly. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had ever offered to help in the kitchen. "Can you knead dough?"

"Of course." Ralph grinned, grabbing at a long wash towel to tie around his waist when the cook had gestured for him to put one on. Ambling over to the other side of the counter, the woman handed him a lump of dough to start working on.

Jack scoffed, brow furrowing slightly. "You can't be serious."

Ralph shot Jack a brief glare before continuing to press and fold the dough. "Care to do something useful instead of standing around?"

Jack stared at him, unsure if he should be more astonished that Ralph dared to speak to him like that or more angry that he _was_ speaking to him like that. In the end, he couldn't decide, so he only muttered something incoherent before walking over the fridge to gather the half full jar of preserves, cream, and eggs.

The cook snuck a sideways glance at Ralph, who was contentedly kneading the dough as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Never in all her years of working here… _Never_ did she ever witness Jack tolerate instruction from others, no matter how indirect. That was a pleasant first. Her wrinkled smile grew wider and her kneading grew more rigorous.

When Jack came back and set the things down on the counter next to the pair, the corner of Ralph's mouth quirked, still staring down as he worked the dough. "Thanks."

Jack only grumbled something under his breath as more dark color raided his face.

It wasn't long before the dough was soon rolled out and cut with the edge of medium-sized glasses. The mounds of dough were soon resting on a metal sheet and pushed into the oven. The cook began making quick work of the eggs while Ralph wiped the counter tops clean. Jack was currently leaning against one of the chairs, his ever unabashed stare following the blond as he worked. Ralph untied the cloth from around his waist and his eyes briefly met Jack's, forcing them both to quickly avert their attention elsewhere.

While sitting down to eat, Jack noticed that Ralph slathered an explicit amount of raspberry preserves over his portion, but was surprisingly clean when he ate. All these little details Jack took in with oddly meticulous interest. They're alone at the table and Jack felt a certain tugging in his gut when he noticed a bit of red smeared over Ralph's lower lip.

"What?" The blond gave him a scant look, noticing that he's been staring now for at least a minute.

Impatient and feeling the thick heat of desire, Jack pulled Ralph's chin towards him, enveloping his mouth in a greedy kiss. His tongue gathered the raspberry and cream on Ralph's sticky lip. The blond doesn't respond for a moment, taken off guard. Ralph's cheek felt deliciously warm beneath his fingertips and he can't stop. Jack's insatiable. He kisses Ralph like he wants to devour him.

He pulled away, forcing Jack to end it prematurely. Ralph's mouth was shining with saliva and his breaths were quick and soft, the sight only stirring the abrasive heat between them. Jack was about to pull him forward once more until Ralph gripped painfully at his leg beneath the table. And it's only then that he heard a familiar pair of boots clicking against the hallway floorboards.

A tall man emerged at the entrance. He's meticulously dressed with an expensive looking business suit matched with a chilling stare. The color of his eyes were identical to Jack's, but the resemblance ended there. He was of a darker complexion, tall, and powerfully built. But it was his eyes and the way that they glanced at them from across the room that sent unsettling shivers down Ralph's spine. The stony disappointment, the sharp-edged apathy, and the hollowness all resounded clearly in that glance.

"Jack," the man said, his voice akin to ice.

The color drained from Jack's face at the man's tone. There was a shade of fear that rested across Jack's eyes—something that even Ralph had yet to see.

"Hello, father…" Jack muttered.

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